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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505430">The House in Sicily</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen'>shadowen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All Stories Have Monsters [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Demisexual Joe, Established Relationship, Found Family, Joe and Nicky have a lot of stories, M/M, Nile wants to hear a story, POV Outsider, Platonic Cuddling, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Story within a Story, aro/ace Nile, frame story, the MOST established of relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:28:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Nile had to picture what she thought Joe and Nicky’s dream home would look like, the house in Sicily would be it, and then some.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman &amp; Nicky | Nicolo di Genoa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All Stories Have Monsters [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>267</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sequel to 'After and Forever' but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Nile had to picture what she thought Joe and Nicky’s dream home would look like, the house in Sicily would be it, and then some. </p><p>It’s timeless and beautiful in a way that is so undeniably <em>Italian</em>, she makes a mental note to tease Nicky about being a stereotype. The outside has been maintained enough that the trees and vines don’t run completely wild, but it’s obviously all been growing for a very long time and become as much a part of the house as its walls and doors.</p><p>Inside, everything is open and airy. The entryway lets out into a huge space with big windows that let natural light flow into every corner. Looking around the main room, Nile thinks there’s not a single spot that wouldn’t be a perfect place to sit and draw, which is almost definitely by design. The kitchen is divided from the rest of the room only by a long island and a dining table, and every piece of furniture looks like it's competing for the title of Comfiest Thing in the House. It’s a place for relaxing, for family gatherings, a refuge to be safe and comfortable with loved ones, and it makes Nile think of her grandmother’s house at Christmas. </p><p>Joe leads Nile to a staircase and up to the second floor, then down a hallway with four doors. At the last door, he stops and ushers Nile inside. The room is dominated by a plush four-poster bed and a matching dresser, both made of dark, rich wood with a satin sheen. A set of glass double doors lets out onto a balcony that appears to run along the entire back of the house, affording a breathtaking view of rolling hills and the nearby sea.</p><p>All Nile can find to say is, “Wow. Wow. Joe, this is...”</p><p>“This is your room,” he says putting an arm around her shoulders. “For as long as the house stands, this is yours. Nicky and I are right at the bottom of the stairs. I’ll give you the grand tour after you get settled in.”</p><p>He leaves her with a kiss on her temple and a fond smile and closes the door behind him. Nile immediately flops on the bed and thanks God that at least one of her immortal siblings appreciates the value of a good mattress. She’s pretty sure that sibling is Joe. It’s definitely not Andy.</p><p>All Nile has been told about this trip is that they need to “coordinate some resources” and “figure out next steps.” The first part of that involves Copley, who is set to arrive with Andy the following day. She’s guessing the “next steps” has something to do with Andy’s new immortality, Booker’s exile, and/or Nile’s training. She’s overheard enough arguments about how much things have changed and how they need to take stock to assume that this is (mostly) Nicky’s idea and that Andy is (partly) opposed on principle. </p><p>If it means she gets to spend some time in a gorgeous Italian villa, sleeping in a real bed and not getting shot at, Nile is completely on board with whatever is happening.</p><p>She changes clothes and takes a few minutes to freshen up in the bathroom, which looks like it was lifted directly out of a luxury spa. The doors to the other bedrooms are open, and she peeks in out of curiosity. One of them is clearly Andy’s, sparse and simple, decorated with antique weapons and smooth stoneware. The walls of the other bedroom are taken up entirely by massive bookcases filled with old books and an eclectic assortment of trinkets and souvenirs, including everything from a beautiful green geode to a cheap snow globe with text in cyrillic letters. This, Nile imagines, must be Booker’s room.</p><p>Back downstairs, she glances into the other rooms on the first floor. One of them is a bathroom that’s somehow even more impressive than the one upstairs, and the other is very obviously Joe’s personal studio. She doesn’t go in, but she’s definitely going to ask Joe for some art lessons while they’re here.</p><p>Cautiously, she sticks her head into Joe and Nicky’s room, which is... a mess. It’s honestly impressive that anyone could create this much chaos in such a short amount of time, but it looks like Joe has been taking every single thing out of both their bags and flinging it in random directions. She would expect Nicky to be roaming around the room, muttering under his breath as he picks things up, but Nicky is lying casually on the big bed, apparently just watching Joe unpack.</p><p>After a moment’s hesitation, Nile flops down next to him, shoulders touching. She grew up in a family of huggers, and having Joe and Nicky, who are so open and tactile in their affections, has helped ease some of the mourning for what she’s lost. </p><p>“Is your room alright?” Nicky asks. “I didn’t have time to get anything for it.”</p><p>“It’s perfect,” she tells him honestly. “This whole place is amazing.” </p><p>Nicky smiles, pleased. “It’s home.”</p><p>“Like, <em>home</em> home? Not like a safehouse, but like where you live when you’re not off... doing what we do?”</p><p>Joe is the one who answers, “<em>Home</em>. Like, we’ve put a lot of work into making sure our family has a safe, comfortable place to go and to keep the things we treasure.”</p><p>She assumes he’s talking about the absolutely staggering amount of art that covers literally every available surface, but it occurs to her that he might be talking about actual treasure. As in, there could very well be a chest of gold and gemstones hidden somewhere in this house. She doesn’t think it would be polite to ask.</p><p>“Can I ask why?” Nile says, and Joe gives her a curious look. “I mean, you’ve got houses all over the world. Why is <em>this</em> house home?”</p><p>“Ah. You want the story.”</p><p>Of course, there’s a story. There’s always a story.</p><p>Joe and Nicky share one of their looks that carries an entire conversation. Nodding once, Joe sets down the shirt he’s trying - and honestly failing - to fold, and grins at Nile. “Come with me.”</p><p>She follows him out of the room. He swings through the kitchen to grab a bottle of white wine and two glasses, then leads her back toward the front door of the house. </p><p>The entryway is spacious, almost like an indoor porch, with big cushions arranged around a low table off to one side. When they first came in, Nile had noticed the beautifully tiled floor and the painted glass windows. Now, she takes a moment to study their designs, intricate geometric patterns in vibrant colors.</p><p>Dropping gracefully into one of the cushions, Joe sets the wine and glasses on the table. He gestures to the room at large. “To start at the beginning, I thought we should go to where it begins.”</p><p>Nile sits down beside him as he pours the wine. “What does that mean?”</p><p>“This room is the oldest part of the house. For a long time, this <em>was</em> the house.” Joe points across the room to where there is now a floor-to ceiling window painted with a pattern of eight-pointed stars. “The table and fire were over there, the bed was here, and that was all the space we needed.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“But... why?” Andromache asked, looking around the little cottage in confusion. </p><p>“So we always have somewhere to return,” Yusuf explained. “A safe place that is ours.”</p><p>Andromache scowled. “But it’s so...”</p><p>“Permanent,” Quỳnh suggested, frowning.</p><p>“<em>Public</em>,” Andromache finished.</p><p>“The nearest village is at least a two hour ride, and we have claimed nearly a half league of land,” Yusuf pointed out. He had told them all of this, but Andromache and Quỳnh were nomadic to their very bones and could not understand the purpose of a permanent home.</p><p>“It still seems like more trouble than it’s worth,” Quỳnh remarked, flopping onto the bed. “This is nice, though.”</p><p>Yusuf and Nico had already argued about whether it was reasonable for all four of them to sleep in the bed. They had slept in much tighter quarters, Nico had reasoned, and they could not expect their guests to sleep on the floor while the two of them rested comfortably. Yusuf’s only counter argument was that it was <em>their</em> bed and he wished to make love in it, which would be difficult to accomplish in the presence of two additional bodies. Nico had given him a <em>look</em>, and the discussion was over.</p><p>For someone so reserved, his beloved was very persuasive. Or Yusuf was simply helpless to resist him. Both, most likely.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Nile rolls her eyes. “<em>God</em>. You are such a dork.”</p><p>Joe laughs and takes a swallow of wine. “You’ve met Nicky. Can you blame me?”</p><p>“Meh. He’s not really my type.” The truth is that <em>no one</em> is Nile’s type, but even if she was interested in anyone, it probably wouldn’t be a beaky white dude.</p><p>To her surprise, Joe says, “Honestly? Me neither.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong. I mean, Nicky is...” He raises his hands and sighs like he’s beholding a divine being. “But he’s literally the only white person I’ve ever even enjoyed looking at. Otherwise, they’re all...” He shrugs and waves dismissively.</p><p>Nile starts to speak, pauses, then says, “Can I ask you a personal question?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Have you ever been with anyone else?”</p><p>“Nope. Never wanted to,” Joe says. “There’ve been a few people that I thought, eh, maybe, but no one has ever stirred me anywhere close to the way Nicky does.” He taps his finger thoughtfully on the glass, and adds, “Nicky has. A few times.”</p><p>“Doesn’t bother you, does it?” Nile asks.</p><p>Joe scoffs. “Should it bother me when a soft wind caresses his face? When he bathes, should I be jealous of the water that touches his body? When he eats, should I demand satisfaction from every morsel that enters his mouth? If a melody captures his heart or an interest captures his passion, should I feel threatened?”</p><p>“I guess not,” Nile says, smiling. Getting Joe to wax poetic is both really easy and highly entertaining. He really is <em>such</em> a dork. “Anyway. The house.”</p><p>“Right!” Joe stretches his long legs out in front of him, settling in. “The house.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The first addition to the structure came sometime in the late fourteenth century, during a period in which the four immortals used the cottage as a base in between excursions into mainland Europe. As far as Joseph knew, this was the longest Andromache and Quỳnh had ever stayed in one place, and the tension began to rise in small increments that everyone pretended not to notice.</p><p>The little room had slowly filled with an assortment of weapons and artifacts they - mostly Joseph - had collected over the years. He would admit to being overly sentimental and keeping things long past their usefulness, but he could not abide the prospect of throwing out anything that still held meaning for him. His precious books and folios were a particular point of contention, as they were clumsy to store and easy to damage, but he patently refused to discard any of the pages upon pages of art, music, and poetry he had accumulated. </p><p>The inevitable breaking point, however, came when Andromache carelessly tossed her axe into a corner, which upset a pile of books and sent the stringed instrument on top crashing to the ground, where it splintered.</p><p>With a loud, discordant twang of the strings, deathly silence gripped the house.</p><p>“Get out.”</p><p>All eyes turned to Nico.</p><p>His gaze was fixed on the broken instrument, face flushed, big hands clenched into fists.</p><p>In a cold, hard voice that Yusuf had never heard, Nico said again, “Out.”</p><p>Joseph and Andromache exchanged a glance. Quỳnh, who had been standing just inside the door, took a small step toward Nico. “<em>Fratellino</em>...”</p><p>Without a word, Nico pulled the knife from his belt. Andromache and Quỳnh looked at each other and slowly retreated back through the door. Yusuf remained still, waiting for Nico to make his next move.</p><p>When the two women were gone from sight, Nico moved to kneel on the floor beside the shattered instrument and lightly laid a hand on its tangled strings. </p><p>“Nicolò, <em>tesoro</em>, we can replace it,” Joseph said gently.</p><p>Nico’s only answer was to shake his head, and Joseph immediately understood.</p><p>Two centuries before, when their immortality was new and their bond was still uncertain, they had lived for a little while in a small village. While there, Joseph had purchased a stringed instrument, an oud, which he had played for Nico every night, and the music had forged the first moments of true connection between them. </p><p>The very same oud that had so shaped their earliest time together now lay on the stone floor, nothing more than splinters of wood and coils of cord.</p><p>“I am so sorry, my heart,” Joseph soothed, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on Nico’s back. “You know it was an accident. Andromache did not mean any harm.”</p><p>Nico’s shoulders tensed, then he let out a long, slow breath and seemed to recover some of himself. “We should protect these things,” he said softly. “This is... They are important. We should keep them safe.”</p><p>“I don’t believe anything is safe with Andromache throwing things around,” Joseph remarked. To his relief, Nico’s lips twitched in amusement. “Perhaps we need fewer possessions, no? Or a bigger house?”</p><p>At last, Nico gave him a genuine smile, the angry flush faded from his cheeks. “A good Christian would say we should not be so attached to material things.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t see any good Christians, here,” Joseph teased, and Nico bumped his shoulder.</p><p>“If it were only things, it would not be a hardship,” Nico said, looking at the piles of bound pages and the few other instruments scattered around. “But this is... If these books were lost, then all the beautiful things you’ve made would be gone from the world.”</p><p>Had Joseph thought about it, he would have assumed that Nico, who never seemed interested in anything that wasn’t useful, merely tolerated the growing pile of Joseph’s belongings with the same infinite patience that he showed for any other kind of nonsense. That these things held meaning for him, also, was a shock, and it certainly explained his anger over the broken oud.</p><p>“Then we will build another room in which to keep our treasures,” Joseph assured him. “It is a simple enough undertaking.” He paused. “I think. I have never built anything.”</p><p>Nico laughed out loud at that and kissed Joseph on the cheek. </p><p>Joseph went on, “In the meantime, I think you should let Andromache apologize.”</p><p>Nico sighed. “I did not wish to upset her. I just...”</p><p>“It’s alright, <em>hayati</em>. She knows.” Joseph gave Nico a quick kiss of his own and stood, offering a hand to his beloved. </p><p>Perhaps it was good for Andromache to see a glimpse of the fire that could be raised in Nico’s gentle heart. She and Quỳnh respected Nico, certainly, and had witnessed his skill in battle enough times not to doubt it, but they seemed, at times, to think of him as the meek one, the soft one. Capable, to be sure, but also in need of protection from the harsh realities of the world. They would benefit from a reminder that even a calm sea could rage.</p><p>As expected, Andromache apologized profusely, swearing she would be more careful. Joseph thought there were few people in the world from whom Andromache the Scythian would be willing to beg forgiveness, and first among them was kind and quiet Nicolò, her beloved little brother.</p><p>Almost immediately, they began to work on a second room for the cottage. Despite Joseph’s claim that it would be a simple task, neither carpentry nor masonry were skills that any of them had ever bothered to acquire, so the work went slowly. Eventually, a room was built, and all of the books and folios and instruments and odds and ends were carefully put away. The room was not exactly well-built and was torn down when the house underwent further renovation, but it served its purpose for a time.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Joe points across to the tall painted window. “It was over there. That used to be a door.”</p><p>“Where’s all your stuff, now?” Nile asks. The art nerd in her is absolutely itching to see everything Joe has collected.</p><p>“Oh, we’ve got a real library, now,” he says. “Most of the house got built the next time around, and Nicky made sure there was a place for everything.”</p><p>Nile still has a hard time believing that Nicky, who owns ten sets of the same clothes and never buys anything new except bullets, is the driving force behind this magnificent house.</p><p>Joe drains his glass and sets it on the table, leaning forward with a serious expression. He must have some idea what Nile’s thinking, because he says, “Nicky... Nicky never really had a home. He never really had anything, honestly. So having <em>this</em>... Having a place that belongs to him, a place that’s safe and full of love... That means a lot.”</p><p>It makes sense. Nile’s known people who were kids with nothing and turned into adults who treated everything like it was made of gold. Nicky doesn’t talk about his life before he met Joe, but Nile’s heard enough to draw conclusions. “He had it pretty rough, didn’t he? Y’know, before.”</p><p>Smiling sadly, Joe refills both their glasses. “We don’t talk about that,” he reminds her. “But, yes. He did.”</p><p>“What about you?” Nile asks. She knows that Joe was a merchant, that he was educated and travelled and generally had a lot going for him, but not much else.</p><p>“Me? I was a spoiled little shit,” he answers, chuckling. “I wanted for nothing. My family loved me. I could have married well and lived a full life surrounded by fat, happy children.”</p><p>Nile has to smile at that mental image, but she also has to ask, “So why didn’t you?”</p><p>“Because the invaders killed my family, and I chose to fight back.”</p><p>He says it the way Nicky says things, sometimes: just an indisputable truth about the universe, spoken plainly and without feeling. It’s the simplest possible explanation, but it catches Nile off-guard.</p><p>“Oh. Shit, Joe. I’m sorry,” she says, but he waves it off</p><p>“At least I had a choice,” he tells her. “Nicky didn’t. Not really.”</p><p>Joe doesn’t say anything more about that, and Nile doesn’t ask.</p><p>When they finish the bottle of wine, Joe takes her for a walk.</p><p>The land around the house is just as beautiful as the inside. There are groves of fruit trees that clearly used to be an orchard but have since gone a little wild, though it looks like someone has been tending them. There are neat stone paths running between beds of wildflowers and an old stone bench underneath an iron arbor, covered in flowering vines.</p><p>Nile has to physically stop herself from just saying <em>wow</em> every other minute.</p><p>The beach is just far enough over a hill that it’s not visible from the house, but it’s close enough to be shouting distance. Or close enough to hear gunfire, should the occasion arise. Either way, Nile is already thinking she needs to buy a swimsuit and beach towels to keep in her new room. When she says as much to Joe, he laughs.</p><p>“Tell Nicky. Shopping for other people and going to the beach are two of his favorite things.” At Nile’s look of disbelief, he adds, “Shopping <em>specifically</em> for other people. He’d still be wearing tunics and sandals, if he could get away with it.”</p><p>Gift giving is a <em>thing</em> with this crowd. Nile’s going to have to up her game, if she doesn’t want to embarrass herself, but she already knows that Nicky is the unacknowledged champion. Andy loves food, which is easy enough, but Nile has to be on the look-out for the newest, wildest, most hipster things, because Nicky has already found her the best of everything else. Joe likes things that are soft and pretty and smell nice, so she’s started picking up really plush blankets to store in their safehouses, but Nicky manages to find the softest, warmest sweaters that make Joe look like a happy woolen cloud. Nile likes music, and Nicky has somehow made sure that every safehouse now has some way to play music, whether it’s a stereo, a record player, or just a guitar.</p><p>Nicky, as far as Nile can tell, likes doing things for other people. He likes books, but he’s already read everything Nile’s ever heard of. He likes to cook, but he refuses to use any kind of new or modern kitchen tools because it <em>just isn’t the same</em>. He likes to play board games, but that is an activity only to be undertaken in very specific circumstances, since he and Andy both get scary competitive. He likes Joe, obviously, but their relationship has been perfected over a literal millennium, so there’s not much to offer, there.</p><p>She’ll just let him take her shopping. That will be nice. </p><p>After a little while, Joe leads her away from the beach and onto the rocky dirt road to head back toward the house. When it comes into view again, Nile shakes her head in awe.</p><p>“If this was my house, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”</p><p>“It <em>is</em> your house,” Joe tells her. “And you can stay as long as you want, any time you want, even if Nicky and I aren’t here. If you need a break, or a quick stop, or if you just want to take some time to study or train or whatever, this place is open to you.”</p><p>Nile doesn’t know what to say. She’s known generous people, people who helped her family in profound ways when they needed it most, but she’s never known anyone to give as readily and as joyfully as Joe does. Except, maybe, for Nicky.</p><p>She bumps against him affectionately, and he puts his arm around her shoulders, planting a quick kiss on her head. “Welcome home, little sister.”</p><p>The sound of a recorded voice is drifting through the house when they return, and Nicky is in the kitchen, prepping what looks like enough food to feed half of Sicily. Nile has to listen for a second before she figures out that whatever he’s listening to is in German. </p><p>“Wait a moment,” Joe tells her. </p><p>He heads toward the kitchen area and pulls a ring of keys from a drawer. He pauses to exchange a few quiet words with Nicky that Nile can’t quite hear and pulls him in for a long kiss that looks like it might actually make Nicky’s knees shake a little. Nile is suddenly very glad her room is on a different floor, because there is no way they are not having sex tonight.</p><p>Keys in hand, Joe leads Nile to what looks like a long tapestry hanging on the wall below the stairs. He pushes it aside to reveal a plain wooden door with a heavy deadbolt, which he unlocks with a large modern key that is, as far as Nile can tell, almost completely indistinguishable from half the other keys he’s holding. Nile is suddenly confused about the layout of the house, until Joe opens the door to reveal another set of stairs leading down. Here, the walls are rough concrete, and the stairs are stone. </p><p>At the bottom of the stairs is a second door, and this one looks like it belongs in the Pentagon, not in someone’s basement. Joe presses his hand to one pad and keys a number sequence into another, and the door cracks open with a hiss.</p><p>“That is some truly terrifying security,” Nile remarks.</p><p>“The contents of this room are worth more than most of our other safehouses combined,” he says. “And it would be even more valuable to... to someone like Merrick.”</p><p>They don’t talk about Merrick or the lab or the many hours that passed between when Joe and Nicky were taken and when Nile burst in to rescue them. The fact that Joe stumbles over even the mention of it tells her everything she needs to know. Mostly, it tells her that motherfucker should be glad he’s dead so Nile can’t go back and find a worse way to kill him.</p><p>Joe shrugs it off and gives Nile a reassuring smile. “It’s also a bunker, in case we ever need one.”</p><p>It’s certainly the fanciest bunker Nile’s ever seen.</p><p>The room is massive, almost the whole foundation of the house, and there are concrete columns and steel beams holding up the structure above. At least, Nile assumes the columns are concrete, but every single one of them has been painted over in bright colors. Some have geometric patterns like the entryway of the house, others are just splashes of paint, and a few have complex scenes wrapping around them. Between the columns are bookshelves. Huge, floor to ceiling, packed with volumes upon volumes of leather bound tomes, faded hardcovers, crumbling paperbacks, textbooks, novels, art books, magazine collections, literally every kind of book Nile can imagine. </p><p>Joe is watching her with an amused smile, and Nile realizes that she has stopped dead in her tracks and is holding her breath. She lets all the air out at once and says, “Holy shit.”</p><p>“Pretty impressive, huh?” Joe says, obviously pleased with her reaction. “Sometimes we have to purge a few books to make room, but we keep the good ones.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Well, the good ones and Nicky’s favorites.”</p><p>On more than one occasion, Nile has seen Nicky with his nose in a cheap romance novel, so this exception makes sense. The one time she’d teased him about it, she ended up explaining the meaning of the word “trashy” in this context and was shocked into silence when he happily declared, “Ah! Yes, I am trash!” and went right back to reading. </p><p>Here, the trashy novels are shelved just the same as the classic first editions, and it just seems... right. </p><p>Joe leads her to a particular section of shelves, enclosed with glass doors, that appears to be hundreds of different notebooks in various styles and sizes, organized from oldest to newest. The oldest ones are in hard plastic cases, and Nile imagines they will just disintegrate with the slightest mishandling.</p><p>“These are mine,” Joe explains, and Nile’s jaw drops.</p><p>She looks at the notebooks again with different eyes. This is Joe and Nicky’s <em>life</em>. This is music and poetry and art going back to the twelfth century. This is a continuous record of the most enduring romantic relationship in human history.</p><p>Joe studies the shelves thoughtfully for a moment, then opens the glass doors and pulls a leather folio from a later section, bringing it to a long table that looks like it was stolen from a university library. He steps back to give Nile space, and she reverently unfolds the cover.</p><p>The very first page is a full-body sketch of a man and a woman dancing. The man’s face is turned away, but Nile would bet good money that it’s Nicky. The woman isn’t familiar, but her features are distinctive enough that she was definitely a real person that Nicky danced with at least once. There are words pencilled in beside the sketch in Joe’s handwriting, but they are in Arabic. At least, it’s mostly Arabic. There are words in Italian and French thrown in there, too. Nile has no idea what it says, regardless, but she’d guess that it’s an ode to Nicky’s shoulders, or something.</p><p>She turns the page and is greeted with another full-body sketch, this one of Andy dressed as a man and smiling in a way that says she’s about to fuck shit up, with a date in the corner that reads <em>25 avril 1812</em>. The back of the first page is full of more lines written in Joe’s hand, this time entirely in Arabic. The completed ode to Nicky’s shoulders, Nile assumes.</p><p>The back of the second page features a number of small sketches of miscellaneous things in motion: a figure with their coat billowing around them, another couple dancing, a woman with long hair and a scarf blowing in an unseen wind, snowbanks and fallen leaves, a shallow stream. It looks like Joe was trying to capture movement in a way that few artists ever fully accomplish.</p><p>The third page makes Nile pause. A snowy landscape dominates the center of the page, craggy mountains and jagged trees, all sharp edges against blank snow and silver ice. Just looking at it makes her toes cold. In the corner above the landscape is a man’s face, a miserable scowl peering through the mass of his unkempt hair and beard, and it takes Nile a full second longer than it should to realize that it’s Booker.</p><p>She looks up at Joe and sees that he’s staring at it, too.</p><p>“This was just after we started dreaming of Booker,” he says, his fingertips touching the paper, right at the edge of the pencil marks. “We were in Spain, cleaning up Napoleon’s mess. We’d seen enough French uniforms to know where to look for him.”</p><p>Joe shakes his head and gently closes the folio. “I thought this was the one before that. I’m sorry.”</p><p>He puts it back in its place on the shelf and pulls out another book from much earlier in the sequence. This one is smaller, with thicker paper and bound in rough, dry leather. Joe opens it carefully and pages through until he finds a particular entry. Smiling, he holds it out to Nile.</p><p>It’s Quỳnh. She is crouched down, a knife in each hand, like a snake baring her fangs before the strike. Her dark hair and eyes seem to rise from the paper like black fire. The figure is small and delicate, but she still takes up the entire page. </p><p>Suddenly, Nile remembers there is something else she’s meant to see. “Andy said I’m supposed to ask about a certain painting of Nicky. The one he doesn’t like?”</p><p>Joe frowns puzzled. “Not the...” </p><p>He makes an expansive gesture with his arms, and Nile quickly shakes her head. “No! No, not the life-size nude. <em>Definitely</em> not that.”</p><p>“No, I didn’t think so.” Joe scratches his beard, thinking. After a second, his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh that one. Right.”</p><p>Putting the notebook back in its place, he leads her to another set of shelves that sits between two columns near the center of the room, instead of against the wall. These shelves are much deeper than the others and, instead of books, are filled with narrow tubes of various sizes. Some are finely crafted things that look like they should contain ancient scrolls or pirate maps. Others are just plain cardboard shipping tubes, like the ones she used to store posters in. There doesn’t seem to be any order to them, since old ones and new ones are all mixed together, and they aren’t sorted by size. Joe crouches down by the bottom shelf, which is by far the most packed with the greatest variety of tubes. He looks over them thoughtfully, then pulls out the end of one to read a faded hand-written label. He hums absently, slides that one back into place, and inspects another one nearby.</p><p>“What are these, and are they organized, like, at all?” Nile asks. She doesn’t want to distract from his search, but she is really curious.</p><p>“These are paintings,” Joe explains, checking yet another tube. “It’s easier to store them this way than leaving them on the frame.” He finally pulls out a smooth wooden tube and stands. “They’re organized by subject.”  </p><p>“Subject, as in...?”</p><p>“As in who or what the painting is of.” Gently, he removes the rolled canvas from its tube and begins to lay it out on the table.</p><p>“So the whole bottom shelf is, what? Nicky?” Nile asks.</p><p>“The bottom two shelves, actually,” Joe says, placing weights at the corners of the painting. There is a protective piece of fabric covering it, which he removes last.</p><p>The painting is, as promised, of Nicky, and it’s not dissimilar to the drawing of Quỳnh. He is holding his sword, leaning forward, about to rush forward at his enemy. There is the same presence, the same sense of power, the same impression of a predator ready to strike, but this animal is wild and feral, even rabid. There is no part of him that is untouched by blood; it coats his blade, drips from his hair, covers his legs as if he has been kneeling in it, and so completely soaks his tunic that the red cross on his chest is barely visible. His eyes are hollow, his face pale and tight with desperation. There is no righteous fury, just a certainty that he is about to die and a determination to bring as much destruction as he can before the end.</p><p>Nile can see why Nicky doesn’t like this painting. She doesn’t like it, either.</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>.”</p><p>She looks at Joe and is a little surprised to find him studying her. Dryly, he says, “Not very flattering.”</p><p>Turning back to the painting, she wants to agree, but something stops her. Yeah, the Nicky in the painting is fucking terrifying, but there’s also a kind of magnetism in the strength and grace of his figure. She can absolutely imagine Joe, nine hundred years younger, seeing this force of nature come at him and being simultaneously scared shitless and stupidly turned on.</p><p>“I don’t think that’s the point,” she says. “I think it’s just... honest.”</p><p>Joe gives her a smile that is at once pleased and curious. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean, it’s not like you made him look evil or demented or something,” she explains, trusting that he wants her real impression, whatever his original intent. “He’s scary and violent, but he’s still human. You still love him.”</p><p>“More than any piece of art could ever express,” Joe agrees. He looks at the painting for a long moment, his expression soft with fondness and memory. </p><p>Then he sighs and says casually, “Technically speaking, this isn’t my best work. Oil has never been my favorite medium, and I just couldn’t get the details and colors to really stand out the way I wanted. The cross isn’t historically accurate, but I thought it added something. I am really happy with the sense of depth, too. Especially here, around the hands.”</p><p>Nile looks at the painting again, this time trying to ignore how raw and personal the subject is and just looking at the work itself. “I don’t know. I think brighter colors would have made it look, I dunno, sensational? Like you were trying to emphasize the violence, instead of just showing it.”</p><p>“Hmm. Maybe.” He is quiet for a few seconds, then his mind seems to immediately move on to something else. “Oh! There’s another one you should see.”</p><p>As thrilled as Nile is to talk with Joe about art, she doesn’t really want to see a series of his favorite Nicky portraits, so she’s a little relieved when he steers her back toward the library door, leaving the painting spread out on the table. </p><p>“We’ll get you added to the security system, so you can come down here whenever you want,” he says as the door hisses shut behind them. “Until then, just ask one of us to let you in.”</p><p>Back upstairs, he stops to lock the hidden door before he leads her to the other side of the stairs and into the bedroom. Nicky must have tidied up while they were out, because the room is in much better order than when she last saw it.</p><p>Their bedroom sits at the corner of the house and has tall windows looking out to the north and glass French doors leading out onto the patio behind the house. The bed is on the wall facing the north window, and the doors to the east offer a gorgeous view of the orchard and the path leading down to the sea. Nile wonders how many mornings Joe and Nicky have spent watching the sunrise here, how many centuries of dawn have been viewed through that glass.</p><p>The painting Joe shows her is a watercolor at the center of the wall facing the east doors. It’s large, bigger than the smaller portrait size Joe usually seems to favor, and shows a rocky dirt road leading through the lush Sicilian countryside toward a small house a little distance away. The house is clearly the focal point of the painting, a spot of warm color nestled between the soft green landscape and the vivid blue sky. It could be any little house on the island, and it takes Nile a second to understand.</p><p>“That’s the original cottage.”</p><p>Joe nods, smiling. “The first time we came back to it, we’d only been away for a few years, but as soon as we could see it from the road, it felt like home.” He points to the piece and adds, “This was the first thing I painted in my studio. It was a gift for Nicky.”</p><p>Some dudes give their partners flowers, Nile thinks, and then there’s Joe. She says, “I bet he loved it.”</p><p>“Yeah, there’s a reason it’s up here, instead of downstairs.”</p><p>The other frames on the bedroom walls, Nile notices, mostly contain photographs, some recent and some as old as photography itself. Several show groups of people posing for the shot: soldiers in a few, children and families in others. A number of the photos are of city streets and buildings, and one set of six looks like it might be the same street at different points in history. There is a crisp black and white photo of a man and woman in casual clothes dancing cheek-to-cheek, their faces turned away from the camera, both tall and dark-haired. Nile thinks the man might be Joe, but she isn’t sure. Beside that is a photo of what seems to be the same woman, now curled up on a sofa and reading a book. Her face is still not clear, as she’s looking down and resting her cheek on one hand, but there’s something familiar about her that Nile can’t place.</p><p>“I’m guessing you went through a photography phase, huh?” she asks Joe.</p><p>He laughs. “On and off, over the years,” he admits. “Documenting things like that, though... it can be dangerous for us, especially these days. If one clear photo of our faces makes it onto any kind of public server, that’s a big fat breadcrumb to anyone who’s looking for us.”</p><p>Nile knows this. Avoiding the proliferation of cameras in the modern world was one of the first things Andy had drilled into her. She wants to ask about the people in these photos, but she just knows that every one of them has a story that will fill up hours. Right now, she wants to know more about the house.</p><p>“When did you expand the house?” Adding a second room is one thing, but the first floor is exponentially bigger than the original structure. “Did you just accumulate too much stuff again, or what?”</p><p>Joe’s smile turns a little sad. “I think it’s probably best if Nicky tells the next part of the story.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We do have good stories, you know,” Nicky says, when Nile asks about the second phase of the house’s existence. “It seems they’re all bad, but many are beautiful. Like Malta. And Kyoto. And the place... Joe, the place in the mountains. What is it?”</p>
<p>“Machu Pichu. Yeah, that was nice,” Joe says wistfully. To Nile, he adds, “He’s right. Not all our stories are full of trauma.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Nile assures him. “But I’m guessing a lot of them involve romantic shit and marathon sex, and, like, I love you guys, but...” She waves a hand to indicate how very much she wants none of that.</p>
<p>“I mean, some of them, sure, but some of them are just fun,” Joe tells her. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but we’re actually very fun guys.”</p>
<p>Nile snorts. She’s heard Andy refer to them as boring old women more than once, and she can think of at least twice that Joe has said something in the vein of, <em>That’s something kids do, right?  </em>Still, she knows they can be fun and that they have the stories to prove it.</p>
<p>“Next time, you can tell me a fun story,” she promises Nicky, who gives her a look that says he knows she’s humoring him.</p>
<p>“This story...” he begins. “It is not fun.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Nicolò. Destati</em>.”</p>
<p>Nico startled awake from a dream of icy water.</p>
<p>Joseph was seated on the edge of the narrow bed, his warm hand gently cradling the side of Nico’s face, expression dark with concern.</p>
<p>“Are you alright, my heart?”</p>
<p>Every single part of Nico that could feel anything ached: his head, his neck, his stomach, his hands, even his very skin. The miraculous gift of healing should have kept such pain at bay, or at least make it dissipate, but all of Nico had been aching without respite for months and more. His heart and soul, altogether more difficult to heal, had been aching for much longer.</p>
<p>He gave Joseph what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Of course. I am only a little tired.”</p>
<p>Joseph knew he was lying and frowned in a way that plainly said as much.</p>
<p>“I am alright,” he promised, sitting up to kiss Joseph softly. “I do not sleep well when you are gone. That is all.”</p>
<p>It was only partly a lie, which Joseph clearly knew, but it seemed that now was not the time he would choose to press. Instead, Joseph took a breath and told Nico, “I met a sailor from Genoa.”</p>
<p>He had been away for two days, replenishing their supplies and searching for any new scrap of gossip that might bring them closer to finding Quỳnh. From his expression, Nico did not think he had much success. Trying for a light tone, Nico said, “I see. So you are replacing me with a sailor. Tell me he is at least very handsome.”</p>
<p>Joseph did not smile. “The volcano in Sicily erupted.”</p>
<p>Some of the haze in Nico’s mind parted. “<em>What</em>?”</p>
<p>“He said Catania was ruined, but he did not know how far the destruction spread,” Joseph went on. “Regardless, there will be people in need. If we go now, we can see to the house, then do what we can to help.”</p>
<p>A fresh ache gripped Nico’s heart. It was wrong to grieve the loss of possessions when so much more had been lost, but it pained him to think of their little home reduced to fire and ash. “Can you convince Andromache of this?” he asked.</p>
<p>“I was rather hoping you would speak to her,” Joseph said sheepishly. “She’s more inclined to hear reason when it comes from you, especially when it’s reason she does not like.”</p>
<p>This was true, at most times, but Nico was not certain either his current temperament or hers would do well with a confrontation. “I am... not entirely myself,” he admitted. “Nor is she. If we argue, I think one of us will say something unkind.”</p>
<p>“I do not believe you are capable of speaking unkindly, <em>hayati</em>,” Joseph said, giving him an affectionate kiss on his forehead. “But I will talk to our sister, if you prefer.”</p>
<p>“Talk to me about what?” Andromache swept into the room with heavy footsteps, hardly looking at the two of them as she began to strip off her wet clothes, evidently to exchange them for dry ones. </p>
<p>Nico and Joseph exchanged a glance, and Joseph rose from the bed. “About what we will do next.”</p>
<p>Andromache did look at him then, frowning. “What do you mean? Did you find something?”</p>
<p>“No, and it has been two decades since we did,” Joseph said patiently. “I have just had news that the volcano in Sicily erupted. We could help there.”</p>
<p>“You could check on your precious house, you mean,” she grumbled. </p>
<p>Her casual disdain for the little cottage had always been a source of gentle teasing among them. Now, it stung, and Nico felt ashamed to have such strong attachment to something so trivial. Before he or Joseph could reply, Andromache waved her hand, as if it meant nothing to her.</p>
<p>“Go on, then. Go play husband and wife in your little house,” she said. “I will be fine.”</p>
<p>Joseph sighed. With Nico, his patience always seemed infinite; with Andromache, it was invariably much shorter. Nico, who had been sleeping in his clothes, began to pull on his boots, in case he needed to step between them or chase after one of them.</p>
<p>“You can’t possibly think we would just leave you.” </p>
<p>“What do I care?” she snapped. “If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, find something useful to do.”</p>
<p>“There is nothing <em>to </em>do!” Joseph told her. “It’s been forty years, Andromache. We have done e--”</p>
<p>Andromache cut him off sharply. “Thirty-six. It has been thirty-six years, and we have not done everything, because we have not found her yet.”</p>
<p>Joseph glanced at Nico, but Nico could only shrug. This had gone more or less as he would have guessed.</p>
<p>Andromache finished pulling on dry clothes and reached for her discarded coat, but she paused before taking it and turned to Joseph. “What would you do if it was Nico?”</p>
<p>Suddenly pale, Joseph said in a quiet voice, “<em>Don’t</em>.”</p>
<p>“Would you give up the search after forty years?” she demanded. “What about fifty? One hundred? Or would you sail once around the isles and say that was enough?”</p>
<p>That question was the reason they had not spoken sooner. Neither could say what they would do if they lost the other, except to go mad with grief and rage. However, there was one thing Nico knew for certain.</p>
<p>“I would want him to.”</p>
<p>Both Joseph and Andromache turned to him in surprise. Nico remained sitting on the edge of the bed.</p>
<p>“If I were lost, I would not want him to spend decades at sea,” he told Andromache. “I would want him to live, to do good, and to have faith that we would see each other again. I cannot say what I would do in your place, but I know what I would want, were I in Quỳnh’s.”</p>
<p>Andromache scowled. “Then your love is as weak as your stomach. How dare you speak for her, as if you have even half her strength.”</p>
<p>She was angry and meant nothing, Nico told himself, but the insults still burned. “I do not speak for her,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I only know I cannot bear another forty years of this, and I would not wish it on anyone else.”</p>
<p>“Oh, what is it you cannot bear, <em>fratellino</em>?” she asked bitterly. “Is it losing your stomach over the rail of the ship every few minutes? Or is it constantly lying in bed like a lazy child?”</p>
<p>Nico felt as though she had struck him with the back of her hand. </p>
<p>From the beginning of this undertaking, he had been weak and useless. No matter how long he spent on each ship, he remained dizzy and sick, and it had become more and more difficult to rise from bed each day. Neither Andromache or Joseph had said anything, but he knew that they saw and that Andromache, at least, rightly judged him for it. If it were him at the bottom of the ocean, no doubt the others would have found him swiftly, instead of being slowed by his ineptitude as they currently were.</p>
<p>In a low, tense voice, Joseph said, “Andromache, I love you dearly, but if you speak to him like that again, you will answer for it.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Yusuf,” Nico said quietly. It was pointless for them to argue over him.</p>
<p>“No, it’s not!” Joseph leaned into Andromache’s space and told her, “You ask what I would do for Nico? The answer is anything. Everything. What I will <em>not </em>do is sacrifice his well being to help Quỳnh. Not any longer.”</p>
<p>Andromache opened her mouth to answer, but Joseph wasn’t finished. “It is selfish and petty, and I don’t care. If you would surrender to your grief, then it can have you. It cannot have him, too.”</p>
<p>He turned on his heel and said to Nico, in a tone that would allow no dissent, “Pack your things. We’re leaving.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think she ever looked at you the same, after that,” Nicky says fondly.</p>
<p>Joe coughs out a laugh. “She certainly never insulted you again.”</p>
<p>“No one ever insults me twice, if you hear them the first time.”</p>
<p>“Damn right.”</p>
<p>Nile has to wonder how many times that’s been put to the test. She thinks of Keane and wonders how many lives have ended because they raised their voice to the wrong immortal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sight of their cottage, ash-darkened but unharmed, made Nico weep with relief. </p>
<p>He didn’t know why this place was so desperately precious to him, but Joseph seemed to understand and indulged his need for a few days of peace before they joined the efforts to rescue and rebuild in Catania. </p>
<p>The first action Nico took was to sleep properly for a full day. Refreshed, cleaned, and fed, his second action was to make love to Joseph as if it was the first time and the last time, all at once. Those things accomplished, he felt more himself than he had for the past thirty-six years.</p>
<p>Immediately, the guilt came for him.</p>
<p>“We should not have left.” His head rested against Joseph’s chest, and he clung to the comfort of his beloved’s heartbeat beneath him.</p>
<p>“Should we have forced her, then?” Joseph asked. “Should we have chained her up and dragged her away?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. I just...”<em>I should have been stronger. I should have helped more. I should have been the one in the ocean.</em> “It just doesn’t feel right, leaving her alone.”</p>
<p>Joseph kissed the top of his head. “I know, <em>hayati</em>. If she persists, we can rejoin the search, but for now...” He wrapped his arms around Nico and squeezed tightly. “For now, I will let myself be glad to have you safe and well.”</p>
<p>Nico had the same thoughts, but his shame would not let him voice them. He had no right to expect that Andromache would welcome him back and no right to be grateful that Joseph was here with him now. Instead, he lifted his head to look into Joseph’s warm eyes and told him, “I meant what I said. If we are ever parted...”</p>
<p>Joseph shook his head and sat up, dislodging Nico from his arms. “Stop it, Nico, please.”</p>
<p>“Listen to me.” Nico held Joseph’s beautiful face in his hands and waited for those soft eyes to find his own. “I will always come back to you. Whether it is ten years or ten thousand, in this life or the next, there is nothing in all of creation that can keep me from you. You need not search or wait or mourn. Just live, and I swear on God’s life I will be with you again.”</p>
<p>In the stunned silence that followed, Nico suddenly felt deeply foolish. He was not prone to grand speeches or emotional pronouncements, and he could not make words carry the full weight of his meaning, not the way Joseph could. Very likely, what seemed to him to be a clear and heartfelt statement was really just jumbled nonsense.</p>
<p>To his surprise, tears welled in Joseph’s eyes and he said, “And you say I am a romantic.”</p>
<p>“You <em>are </em>a romantic,” Nico replied. “I’m simply telling you the truth.”</p>
<p>Joseph’s answer was to kiss him soundly and pull him back down into the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I could’ve spent weeks in that bed, and it still wouldn’t have been enough.” Joe pouts at Nicky. “You wouldn’t let me.”</p>
<p>“We had work to do,” Nicky says. “I let you spend plenty of time in bed while the house was built.”</p>
<p>“But you weren’t there, and it wasn’t <em>our</em> bed, it was at an inn,” Joe whines. To Nile, he says, “Can you believe he shipped me off to Palermo while he was here playing architect?”</p>
<p>Nicky sighs loudly. “I didn’t ship you off, my heart. We needed a place to live until the house was done.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I lived there. Our stuff lived there. You didn’t live there.”</p>
<p>With another sigh, Nicky turns to Nile, “He was alone, perhaps, two days at a time. Ever.”</p>
<p>“Completely abandoned,” Joe insists.</p>
<p>Nicky gives Nile a look that speaks fucking volumes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite his certainty that no separation could be permanent, the fear that he might one day be parted from Joseph loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon of Nico’s heart. Promises and faith were all well and good, but they meant nothing if they could not be kept. He could not bear the thought of leaving Joseph without any trace of himself to give comfort, and he thought at least, if Joseph were gone from him, he would have the myriad books and folios to remind him of his beloved. </p>
<p>The only thing Nico had ever truly owned was the little cottage and the land around it, which was registered under the name <em>Genovese</em>. If Joseph were left without him, their home would be all that remained.</p>
<p>The destruction from the volcanic eruption was not so widespread as they had feared, and much had already been done to help those in need. Joseph and Nico tried to help wherever they could, often volunteering to search unstable structures for survivors and the dead or to help shore up those structures to prevent further collapse. Another of the volunteers was a young architect called Dario, who Joseph often cited as the only reason none of them wound up under a pile of rubble.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He had a crush on Nicky,” Joe tells Nile.</p>
<p>Nicky rolls his eyes. “He was excited that I took an interest in his work. He had a crush on Giona.”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“The doctor,” Nicky says. “You remember, the one with the obnoxious laugh.”</p>
<p>Jo frowns. “Oh! Really? I thought Dario had better taste than that.”</p>
<p>“He did. He eventually ran off with a carpenter from Crete.”</p>
<p>“Good for him.”</p>
<p>Giving Joe a pointed look, Nicky says, “<em>Anyway</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dario was immediately taken with the challenge Nico presented to him: to create a library that could be kept secret and could withstand the greatest forces of nature, and to hide that library within a home built for an artist.</p>
<p>“I think, perhaps, the answer is underground,” Dario said. “Like the catacombs, but it will be a resting place for precious art, rather than the bones of saints.”</p>
<p>Nico frowned. “What about dampness and flooding?”</p>
<p>“That is always a risk, but I believe it can be solved.” He pondered for a moment. “Yes, I think there is a way, but I will have to see the ground, first.”</p>
<p>“Yes, of course, whenever you like,” Nico agreed. The house was beginning to take shape in his mind, with tall windows and a proper studio for Joseph and a place to keep all of their history safe.</p>
<p>Dario looked down at his hands, his face suddenly flushed. “May I ask... That is... There is something I wish to know, but I do not wish to offend you.”</p>
<p>“I am very difficult to offend,” Nico assured him, smiling. “So long as you do not insult my Joseph, there is truly very little that will trouble me.”</p>
<p>“It is... about Joseph.” Quickly, Dario added, “Not an insult! Just... you and he...”</p>
<p>Nico’s smile softened. “I believe I know your question, and the answer is yes, we are lovers. We have been so for many years.”</p>
<p>Dario nodded. “Ah. Yes. I see.”</p>
<p>He looked lost in thought, and Nico asked gently, “Does that give you pause? If you do not wish us to employ you...”</p>
<p>“No! No, not at all! Truly, anyone with eyes can see that he worships you.” Dario chewed his lip for a moment, then said in a quiet voice, “I only ask because I... I also have such devotion. To another man.”</p>
<p>This was hardly a surprise to Nico. Dario had been immediately drawn to the two of them, and there were always small signs that such men gave, especially in the company of those they felt would not judge them. Sometimes, Nico had found, recognizing them was as simple as recognizing the flickers of admiration and desire in their faces as they gazed at Joseph, which had certainly been true with Dario.</p>
<p>“He is a fortunate man,” Nico told him honestly. “I hope that he is worthy of your affection and that you will find great happiness together.”</p>
<p>Dario flushed and grinned, looking half his age and foolish with love. Nico prayed his youthful heart would not betray him or bring him suffering, as so often happened to such young men.</p>
<p>As the city was slowly restored, Nico and Dario began to put more and more attention toward plans for the house. Upon seeing the location, Dario was immediately confident that his idea for the underground library could be accomplished and sent word to a fellow architect he knew who had built such things in other places.</p>
<p>“It will be a palace for a secret king,” Dario declared, once the final plan was done. “A simple place, full of hidden treasures and private love.”</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Nico said. And it was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And then I didn’t see you for two years,” Joe complains. The three of them are sitting on the bar stools around the kitchen island, and Joe has one leg stretched out, bare foot resting on Nicky’s thigh.</p>
<p>Nicky pats his ankle and says dryly, “Yes, my love, you were all alone for so long.”</p>
<p>“But then you had this house, right?” Nile points out. “This amazing house that your badass husband designed for you.”</p>
<p>“I will admit, the house made a lot more sense once I saw it,” Joe says. “He just told me he wanted to make us a house, and then he ran off with his new architect friend.”</p>
<p>Nile raises an eyebrow at Nicky, and he looks a little sheepish. “I didn’t know how to articulate what I wanted. Easier to just...” He makes a pushing gesture. “Do the thing.”</p>
<p>“And the thing was beautifully done,” Joe says. “He showed me the library, and I was speechless for five minutes.”</p>
<p>“A record,” Nicky observes, and Joe pokes Nicky’s stomach with his toes. To Nile, Nicky goes on, “It was much less modern, then. Only thick walls and heavy locks.”</p>
<p>“Obviously, we’ve made some improvements,” Joe adds. “Electricity, indoor plumbing...”</p>
<p>“The second floor was... eighteen-something, yes?” Nicky asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah, it was after...” He doesn’t need to say after Booker. “Late nineteenth. Right.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but you can’t possibly spend that much time here. How do you take care of the house?” Nile asks. She loves hearing all their ridiculous stories, but she has some big logistical questions.</p>
<p>Joe laughs, and Nicky gives her a mischievous smile that is very out of place on his earnest face. “Ah, <em>sorellina</em>, that is a story for tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Tomorrow, when it comes, is full of things Nile does not expect.</p>
<p>If she doubted Joe’s assessment that Nicky would love to take her shopping, that doubt is immediately erased by Nicky’s delighted smile, and it turns out that shopping with Nicky is An Experience. </p>
<p>When it comes to second opinions and making decisions, he’s absolutely useless. He just tells her she looks beautiful in everything, and if she can’t decide between two things, to get both. The one time she does get him to offer an opinion, he says that green is a very good color for her and that she would look stunning in yellow. At the same time, he wants to methodically search every section of every store for every single item that could possibly make Nile happy and says that he loves everything she picks out. Never once does he mention a budget or balk at the inflated boutique prices.</p>
<p>In another life, she thinks, he would have been a terrific dad. </p>
<p>When she tries to show him the price tag on one especially outrageous item, he takes a step back with his hands up.</p>
<p>“Oh, no. I do not look at prices. It makes me, ah...” He makes a chaotic motion over his chest and stomach that seems to indicate a combination of nausea and heart palpitations.</p>
<p>“Anxious?”</p>
<p>“<em>Sì</em>. Anxious.” He waves dismissively. “I know there is enough money for things like this. I don’t need to know the price.”</p>
<p>She ends up with a lot of clothes. Like, a lot. She’s never seen any of the immortals use a credit card, but at every store Nicky hands the cashier an honest-to-fuck Black Card without looking at the total. Each time, he tears up the receipt and tosses it in the nearest bin. </p>
<p>Joe is off doing some shopping of his own, and they wait for him at a cafe that has the best pastries Nile has ever eaten in her life. Something that’s been drifting around in her curiosity for a while floats to the surface, and she figures now is as good a time as any to bring it up.</p>
<p>“Can I ask you something?”</p>
<p>Nicky smiles, giving her his complete attention. “Anything.”</p>
<p>“So, like, our brains heal the same as the rest of our bodies, right? One of us gets a concussion or something. A minute later, it’s like it never happened.” He’s nodding, listening intently, and Nile figures she’s just going to go for it. “But, y’know, it seems like you’ve got some clinical depression shit going on, so...”</p>
<p>“So why does the imbalance in my brain not heal like everything else?” he finishes.</p>
<p>“Right.” Quickly, she adds, “And seriously tell me if I’m out of line or you don’t wanna talk about it.”</p>
<p>“No, no. It’s a good question. I have thought of this many times.” He takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment before he says, “The truth is... the human brain is strange. Study of it is so new. I have theories, but I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“What’s your theory?”</p>
<p>Nicky tilts his head. “Do you want the medical one or the spiritual one?”</p>
<p>“What’s the difference?”</p>
<p>“Very little,” he admits. Going on, he says, “I think our healing fixes things that are broken. I spent many years thinking my mind was simply too broken to be healed. But now I think things like mental illness and, ah...” He gestures to his head and says a word in Italian that Nile doesn’t know. “Neurodivergence. <em>Sì</em>. These things are part of how a person’s brain works. How my brain works. They are different, yes, but they are not broken.”</p>
<p>“That... makes a lot of sense, actually,” Nile says. She makes a mental note to ask him about the spiritual theory, but she suspects that might be a heavier conversation for a later time.</p>
<p>When Joe eventually joins them, his arms are full of shopping bags, and he looks like he’s been having the time of his life. He sets the bags on the ground around their little table and drops into the third chair, leaning over to kiss Nicky’s cheek and to swipe the half-finished drink in front of him. </p>
<p>“Did you buy anything useful?” Nicky asks.</p>
<p>“Of course not!” Joe replies happily. “I got you slippers.”</p>
<p>He reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a shoebox, removing the lid with a dramatic flourish to show Nicky a pair of fluffy pink and yellow slippers. Nile has to stop herself from physically recoiling in horror, because they are <em>hideous</em>.</p>
<p>Nicky just says sweetly, “Thank you, <em>hayati</em>. That’s very thoughtful.”</p>
<p>“They look comfy,” Nile says, because they do and because it’s the only positive thing she can think of.</p>
<p>“Nicky’s feet get cold on the tiles at the house,” Joe tells her as he returns the slippers to their bag. From a different bag, he pulls a silk robe with a delicate blue floral pattern. “And for you, something for the beach.”</p>
<p>“Oooh!” Nile exclaims, pulling the smooth fabric around her shoulders. “Joe, it’s gorgeous.”</p>
<p>“I thought you might like it.” Joe smiles, obviously pleased with himself, and he lifts Nicky’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “Ready to go home, my heart?”</p>
<p>Nicky nods. “No more shopping for a while, I think.”</p>
<p>Joe kisses his hand again and stands, gently pulling Nicky with him.</p>
<p>The ride back to the house is quiet, and Nile spends it watching the Sicilian countryside slip past in streams of color. Once all their purchases are inside the house, Joe and Nicky disappear into their bedroom, and Nile goes upstairs to put away all of her completely unnecessary new clothes. She takes a little time to try out a few outfits and put on some new leggings and a very cute top that Nicky swore looked trashy in a good way.</p>
<p>When she comes back down, Joe is sitting in the living area with a dark-haired woman Nile doesn’t recognize. There are stacks of files covering the big coffee table, along with a bottle of wine and two half-empty glasses.</p>
<p>When Joe sees Nile, he grins brightly and calls her over. “This is Nile, our new little sister,” he tells the woman. “Nile, this is Carlotta Lazzari, our lawyer.”</p>
<p>Nile is already shaking the woman’s hand before she registers what Joe has said.</p>
<p>“Your... lawyer?”</p>
<p>Carlotta gives Joe an odd look. “You didn’t tell her?”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “We figured it was better to explain everything all at once, instead of parts of it three times to three different people.”</p>
<p>“Wait. Explain what?” Nile’s not sure whether the bigger question is <em>why</em> Joe and Nicky have a lawyer or <em>how </em>they got one to begin with. Wildly, her mind goes to divorce, but that is so absurd on so many levels, she feels ridiculous for even thinking of it.</p>
<p>“This is where the rest of the story about the house comes in,” Joe says. “Copley’s gonna need to hear it, too, and Andy... might not know as much as she thinks she does.”</p>
<p>It should be unfathomable that Joe and Nicky have any secrets from Andy, but maybe that’s what this is about. Maybe Booker’s betrayal has shifted something, and now they want to come clean. Maybe Andy’s mortality has given everyone a new perspective. At this point, Nile is just along for the ride.</p>
<p>Joe looks like he’s about to say something else, but he stops. Instead, he asks Nile, “Would you go check on Nicky? He's just napping.”</p>
<p>“Sure. You want me to wake him up?”</p>
<p>“No, no. If he’s awake, just let him know Carlotta’s here.”</p>
<p>Normally, if anyone on the team is taking a nap, it’s Joe. Nile has seen him curl up on the roof of a skyscraper in the freezing wind and be asleep in seconds. Sleeping anytime anywhere is a skill most soldiers develop, but Joe could take a nap in a tilt-a-whirl, as long as Nicky is nearby.</p>
<p>The curtains in the bedroom are closed, letting in just a little of the afternoon sunlight. Nicky is lying on his side on top of the covers, facing away from the door. Nile doesn’t think she’s ever seen him sleeping without Joe wrapped around him, and he looks strange, his broad shoulders too bulky, his back too open and exposed.</p>
<p>“Nicky?” she calls softly. She doesn’t want to wake him, if he’s actually asleep.</p>
<p>“I’m awake, <em>sorellina</em>.” He sounds perfectly normal, but he doesn’t turn to look at her.</p>
<p>“Joe sent me to check on you,” she tells him. “Carlotta’s here.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause before Nicky answers. “Thank you. I will be out in a little while.”</p>
<p>Nile’s done her job, and she starts to leave, thinking Nicky might want to be alone. Then she stops and asks, “Do you want anything? Some tea or company or something?”</p>
<p>He’s quiet long enough that Nile wonders if he didn’t hear her or if he’s upset that she asked, but then he says, in that same calm, normal voice, “If you don’t mind, would you lie down with me for a little while?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Nile says. She shuts the door gently and climbs on the bed next to Nicky. They’re both fully dressed and barefoot, and it makes Nile think of kindergarten naptime, side by side with her best friend on their squishy plastic mats, trying to sleep in the middle of the day in a room that wasn’t nearly dark enough.</p>
<p>Nicky’s shoulders seem to relax a little as soon as she touches him, and she wonders if the reason he doesn’t sleep when Joe’s not next to him is because he <em>can’t</em>. Nile hesitates for just a second before she scoots up beside him and wraps her arm around his chest. He tenses for a second, then relaxes completely.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Nile asks, just to make sure.</p>
<p>“<em>Sì. Grazie</em>,” he replies, much softer.</p>
<p>Nile is smaller than Nicky, but not by so much that it makes the position uncomfortable. It’s actually really cozy. He smells nice, and, for all that he is a towering tank of a man, he’s very soft and warm. She doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but she’s either underestimated or forgotten the soporific effect of cuddling, because she’s out like a light in a minute flat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nile wakes up groggy, hungry, and a little bit cranky because she was just warm and she is suddenly less warm and it’s the worst.</p><p>She quickly remembers that the reason she’s groggy is because she was napping with Nicky and realizes that the reason she’s less warm is because Nicky is no longer next to her. Instead, he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. </p><p>Nile hauls herself into a sitting position and stretches her arms over her head with a yawn. “Good morning.”</p><p>“<em>Buonasera</em>,” Nicky replies around a yawn of his own. “Come on. Joe says it’s time to get up.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Nile grumbles, moving toward the other side of the big bed. </p><p>Before she can open the door, Nicky says quietly, “Nile?”</p><p>When she looks at him, his mouth twitches, but he doesn’t quite smile. “Thank you,” he says.</p><p>Nile just grins and gives him a tight hug. “Anytime, <em>fratello</em>.”</p><p>It turns out that the reason it’s time to get up is that Andy and Copley have arrived.</p><p>Andy is already in the kitchen, opening another bottle of wine, and Copley is looking around like a lost tourist.</p><p>“The house looks good,” Andy says.</p><p>“Looks the same as it always does,” Joe replies.</p><p>“Isn’t that the point?” Andy says, giving Nile a one-armed hug and a kiss on the temple as soon as she’s within reach. </p><p>“This is your home?” Copley asks Joe, sounding a little awed. “It’s incredible.”</p><p>Joe narrows his eyes and says in his best fake-friendly voice, “Technically, it’s Nicky’s.”</p><p>“Technically, the house and all associated assets are owned jointly by Niké Genovese and her husband, Giordano Turchi,” Carlotta says, coming to join them in the kitchen.</p><p>Nile raises an eyebrow. “<em>Her</em> husband?”</p><p>“Nicky’s been a woman a few times,” Joe says casually, like that doesn’t raise more questions than it answers. Nile just adds it to the ever-growing list of things she’s definitely going to ask about one day.</p><p>Judging by the look on his face, Copley also has some questions, but before either he or Nile can ask anything, Carlotta holds out a hand to Andy.</p><p>“Carlotta Lazzari. You must be Andy.”</p><p>Andy shakes her hand with a smile, which is about as friendly as Andy gets with new people. Carlotta also introduces herself to Copley and, when it becomes apparent he has no idea who she is, adds, “I’m the Genovese family lawyer.”</p><p>He blinks. “The... I’m sorry, the what?”</p><p>“We’ll get to that,” Joe promises, ushering them all toward the living area.</p><p>As they’re getting settled, Andy suddenly asks, “What the fuck are those?”</p><p>She’s looking directly at Nicky’s feet, which are currently sporting the hideous fuzzy slippers.</p><p>“A gift from Joe,” Nicky says mildly. “They’re very soft.”</p><p>“They’re...” Andy pauses as Nile catches her eye and shakes her head slightly. Instead of finishing her sentence, Andy looks at Joe. “You have better taste than that.”</p><p>Joe just shrugs, grinning, and sits in the middle of the couch, next to Nile, with Nicky on his other side. Andy has claimed the love seat for herself, and Copley and Carlotta are both sitting in overstuffed armchairs, looking like the only actual adults in the room. </p><p>After a moment, Copley leans forward and speaks, sounding like he’s trying desperately not to offend his hosts, who may or may not be psychopaths. “As much as I appreciate being included in... whatever this is, I really have to ask... What is this?”</p><p>Andy snorts, and Carlotta smiles politely. Joe is the one who responds. “Let me ask you this, Copley: In all your digging, did you ever turn up any connections to the Lazzari family?”</p><p>Copley shakes his head. With a glance at Carlotta, he guesses, “I take it that’s an oversight on my part?”</p><p>“Not necessarily. If you’d known what to look for, you might have found something.” Joe scratches at his beard, thinking. “The best way to get everyone up-to-speed is probably to start at the beginning. Carlotta probably knows a lot of this. Andy knows most of it. But, uh, it’s a long story.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Around the end of the seventeenth century, not long after the expansion of the house had been completed, a plague swept across Sicily.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the beginning,” Carlotta interrupts. “The beginning was during the Inquisition.”</p><p>“She’s right,” Nicky agrees, but Joe shakes his head.</p><p>“No. I mean, yes, that’s the beginning, but if we start at the <em>very</em> beginning, we’ll be here all night.” He looks between the two of them. “Okay?”</p><p>Carlotta shrugs. “You’re the storyteller.”</p><p>“Thank you. Anyway...”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The knock on the door was so unexpected, Joseph reached for his sword on instinct. Nico was already on his feet beside the bed, sword in hand, the pale dawn light casting his naked skin in dappled silver. Joseph’s sleep-addled brain took a moment to appreciate the view of his beloved’s broad shoulders and sculpted backside, before he remembered that he was meant to be getting out of bed.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked, or tried to ask. It came out mostly as a startled yawn.</p><p>Without reply, Nico stalked out of the bedroom and made his way toward the front door. Joseph spared a moment’s pity for the poor soul who was about to be greeted by a naked warrior with a large sword. Unless the unexpected visitor was there to attack them or otherwise cause trouble, in which case Joseph hoped Nico frightened them into an early grave. For his part, Joseph took a moment to put on a robe, but he still grabbed his sword.</p><p>He did not immediately recognize the man at the door. They had only crossed paths a few times, and the expression of desperation made him appear much older than his years. When recognition came, Joseph was stunned. “Signoro Lazzari?”</p><p>Lazzari gave a quick nod. “Signoro. Forgive me. I know it is early.”</p><p>“The sickness has come to his house,” Nico said. He leaned his sword beside the door and swept past Joseph toward the bedroom, presumably to dress.</p><p>“My daughter,” Lazzari explained to Joseph. “She is ill. The doctor will not come, but my wife said Signoro Genovese has some knowledge of medicine.”</p><p>“He does,” Joseph assured him. Nico’s skill was generally focused on treating injuries, but he had tended plague victims before. Ushering Lazzari inside, he said, “Come in, come in. We will be prepared to leave in a moment.”</p><p>Lazzari shook his head. “I should get back to my family. You know the way?” Joseph nodded, and Lazzari grasped his hand firmly. “Thank you, Signoro. Thank you both.”</p><p>When he was gone, Joseph went to join Nico in the bedroom, where he had finished dressing and was filling a pack with physician’s tools.</p><p>“Things must be bad in the city, if the doctor will not come,” Joseph remarked, reaching for his own clothes.</p><p>Nico shook his head. “The doctor will not come because they are Jews.”</p><p>“Oh.” Joseph paused. “Well. All the more reason we must help them, then.”</p><p>Nico did not need to answer for Joseph to know he had already thought the same thing.</p><p>The Lazzari family were their only true neighbors, on a modest farm a short distance up the road toward the town. Joseph and Nico had aided a previous generation during the Inquisition, when Jews were being expelled from Sicily, but, as far as the current generation knew, this Nicola Genovese was a descendant of the other one. Joseph had spoken with Abramo Lazzari on a few occasions, usually about the weather or some interesting piece of news, but Nico had once helped Abramo’s wife, Lia, set a sprained wrist, as he happened to witness the incident that caused it.</p><p>That was the sum total of their history. Joseph had never been in their home or met their children. He had only met Lia when she brought Nico a basket of bread in thanks for his kindness. The Lazzaris kept to themselves, as did Joseph and Nico, and the mutual privacy had always suited everyone just fine.</p><p>Abramo met them at the door and led them through the main house to a small store room where blankets had been piled to make a bed. Lia sat beside the bed, gently stroking the head of a little girl whose frail form was nearly lost among the blankets. There were tears in Lia’s eyes when she looked up at Nico.</p><p>“Signoro Genovese...”</p><p>“How long has she been ill?” Nico asked abruptly. He had no use for pleasantries when there was work to be done, but Joseph knew that his gentleness would return when it was needed.</p><p>“She complained of a headache yesterday,” Lia said, moving aside so that Nico could lean over the little girl. “I woke when she began crying in the night and found her feverish.”</p><p>Nico laid his hand on the girl’s pale forehead. “And you have kept the other children away from her?”</p><p>Lia nodded. “Yes. I knew immediately it was the sickness that has already taken so many.”</p><p>“You should burn the bedclothes that she slept in,” Nico said. “And everyone in the house should bathe as soon as possible.”</p><p>“Already done,” Lia assured him. She seemed more composed, going over the facts of the matter.</p><p>Abramo was standing still in the doorway, chewing on a knuckle and watching his daughter’s face with a lost expression. Joseph set a comforting hand on Abramo’s shoulder and guided him away.</p><p>“Best to give them room to work,” he said gently, and Abramo nodded.</p><p>“Yes, right. Of course.”</p><p>In the main room of the house, which they had passed through quickly before, two other small children were sitting on the floor on either side of a stout old woman, all three of them enveloped in a great blanket. The woman was watching Joseph with a stare that was just shy of suspicious.</p><p>“Oh, yes. My mother, Noemi, and my sons, Elia and Giusi,” Abramo said absently, gesturing to the trio. The younger of the two boys was fast asleep, but the other was keeping an eye on Joseph with as much interest as his grandmother.</p><p>In deference, Joseph sank to one knee to address the old woman. “God be with you, grandmother. I am Joseph al-Tayyib. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”</p><p>Noemi narrowed her eyes at Joseph. Then she chuckled and said lightly, “You are welcome, signoro. Your mother must be pleased to have a son with such excellent manners. I would not know.” </p><p>She shot a glance at Abramo, who did not seem to notice. He could hardly be blamed for a failure of manners, Joseph thought, when his child might be on her deathbed. Joseph smiled and assured Noemi, “My mother, may her memory be a blessing, would rise from her eternal rest to berate me if I did not give due honor to a gracious host.”</p><p>Nodding as if this was the correct answer, she then asked, “That man. Genovese. He is a doctor?”</p><p>“He has tended the sick and wounded many times, often in places where doctors will not go,” Joseph told her honestly. Nico had followed many healers in many places, learning as much as he could to offer as much help as possible, and his breadth of experience sometimes afforded him knowledge that trained doctors seemed to lack.</p><p>“And you?” Noemi pressed. “What are you to him? An assistant?”</p><p>On more than one occasion, Joseph had been mistaken for Nico’s servant or slave, so <em>assistant</em> was considerably more flattering. Though they rarely volunteered the nature of their relationship, in part because there simply were not adequate words in any language, neither had they ever sought to hide it, so Joseph replied in truth, “I am his beloved companion, as he is mine. Where he goes, so too do I go.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Just like that? You could just be out in the open like that, even then?”</p><p>All eyes turn to Copley, who is leaning forward in his chair and has been absolutely eating up every word of this story. He glances around in the sudden silence, clearly realizing he’s said something wrong. </p><p>“What? You think tolerance was invented in the twentieth century?” Joe scoffs, leaning against Nicky in a way that is obviously engineered to make straight people uncomfortable. Nicky adds to the effect by putting his arm around Joe’s shoulders.</p><p>Nile has a sudden suspicion that Copley is the only straight person in the room, though she doesn’t want to make assumptions about Carlotta, who is quietly smiling into her glass of wine.</p><p>“No, of course not. I didn’t... I just thought...” Copley sputters and looks at Nile, like he hopes she might save him, but she shakes her head. </p><p>Nicky, evidently, takes pity on Copley and tells him kindly, “Different people in different places have been more or less welcoming at different times. In any case, we are already outsiders, and we have no fear of violence. Why should we lie?”</p><p>Nile thinks of Nicky in another story, an older story, the oldest one he’ll tell, of a time when he believed he was bound to Hell for the sin of loving Joe. However much the world has or hasn’t changed, Nicky sure has.</p><p>Copley sits back in his chair, looking like a kid whose dad has just said, <em>I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed</em>. “I understand. I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”</p><p>“None taken.” Nicky smiles and gives Joe a subtle poke in the shoulder.</p><p>“Sure. Right. Whatever,” Joe grumbles. “Now that we’ve cleared that up.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>After an hour or so, which Joseph spent chatting comfortably with Abramo and his mother, Nico emerged with a deep frown.</p><p>Abramo sprang to his feet anxiously. “My daughter?” </p><p>Nico’s expression softened, but it remained serious. “She is very ill, but she is strong. I think the best that can be done is to care for her until the fever breaks.”</p><p>“How long?” Abramo asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Nico replied, shaking his head. “I have seen diseases like this, but every one runs its own course. Several days, at least.”</p><p>From her place on the floor, still holding the two boys, Noemi spoke up. “What of the other children?”</p><p>“They should be kept away. If you have family they can stay with, that would be best.” Sighing, he added, “Truthfully, she should be tended by one person only, and that person should also stay away from the others.”</p><p>Abramo and Noemi shared a grim look. “That is not possible,” he said. “Our family is far away, and Lia can’t tend to a sick child alone.”</p><p>Nico glanced at Joseph, and a flash of helplessness crossed his face, a look he would never allow anyone else to see. Joseph met his eye and tried to fill his gaze with all the love and confidence his heart held for Nico at all times. He had nothing else to offer.</p><p>Suddenly, Nico said, “Come to our home.”</p><p>Abramo looked at him, startled, and Joseph raised his eyebrows. Nico set his jaw and went on, “We have space. And food. We can help care for your daughter and keep the rest of your family safe.”</p><p>Abramo shook his head. “No. That is too much to ask.You would be putting yourselves at risk.”</p><p>Joseph and Nico shared another quick look, this one filled with purpose, and Joseph answered, “We are  healthy. We stand a decent chance of surviving the sickness, if it comes to that.”</p><p>“At least allow Lia and the girl to stay with us,” Nico insisted. “I can help Lia tend to her, and the rest of you will be away from danger.”</p><p>“I will go also,” Noemi announced, climbing slowly to her feet. “I can only imagine what sort of house two young men keep. It likely needs a woman to get it under control.”</p><p>Nico opened his mouth, obviously to protest, but Joseph spoke first, “We would be honored to have you in our home, grandmother.”</p><p>Noemi gave him her approving nod and bustled into another room, presumably to pack for her journey.</p><p>“It’s settled then,” Nico declared, and Abramo had no choice but to follow along.</p><p>While Lia and Nico prepared the little girl to depart, Joseph helped Abramo hitch a small cart to the family’s mule, a venerable beast who would only move at whatever speed he chose, and that speed was always slow.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Abramo asked abruptly.</p><p>Joseph finished tying a piece of cloth around the axle of the cart and answered without thinking, “It will stop the cart from rattling too much on the road.”</p><p>“Not that. <em>This</em>.” Abramo had ceased to work and fixed Joseph with a steady look. “Why are you helping us?”</p><p>Another clever response sprang to Joseph’s tongue, but he swallowed it. When faced with the question of <em>why</em>, Nico was the one who always had a ready reply, and Joseph gave the same answer now. “Because it is the right thing to do. You need help, and we can give it. To do otherwise would be wrong.”</p><p>Whether Abramo accepted this explanation, Joseph could not say, but he did not ask again.</p><p>When all other preparations were made, Nico carried the little girl out to the cart. When he lifted her in his strong arms, she coughed and blinked awake, staring blearily into his unfamiliar face.</p><p>“Hello, little one,” Nico said softly. “You are Adelina, yes?” She gave a weak nod. “My name is Nico. I am going to take care of you until you are better. Is that alright?” She nodded again, and tucked her head against his chest, apparently satisfied that he could be trusted.</p><p>Once in the cart, she did not wake again until she was safely deposited in the big bed in Joseph and Nico’s house.</p><p>Over the next few days, Nico and Lia took shifts in tending to Adelina. During the day, her mother would sit beside her, and at night, Nico kept watch while Lia slept. Joseph and Noemi were both barred from the bedroom, in the interest of keeping the illness contained. Joseph set up a cot in the main room for Noemi and made himself a mound of blankets in his studio.</p><p>Noemi grudgingly admitted that they kept a reasonably tidy house, then proceeded to claim the kitchen as her personal domain. Joseph, who had always considered himself a decent cook, found that he was but a babe in arms beside this formidable woman and committed to learning everything she would teach him.</p><p>In the deep night, when the house itself seemed to slumber, Joseph would sit on the stone floor outside the bedroom door, while Nico took his place next to the bed. The distance between them was hardly more than two arm lengths, but it might as well have been an ocean, impassable and cold.</p><p>“This is torment,” Joseph said morosely on the third night. He did not like to complain, because Nico took such things to heart and would feel guilty for neglecting him, but the tension and frustration were wearing his nerves raw. “This is the longest I have ever gone without touching you. When you finally lay your hands upon me, I think I shall crumble.”</p><p>Nico gave him a bemused smile, face pale and drawn. “Take yourself in hand, then. Or find a lover to distract you. You have my blessing.”</p><p>Joseph groaned. “What other’s touch could ignite me when I have known yours? Any other hands would be half-witted pretenders at play in your kingdom. My body belongs to you alone, and it withers in your absence.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus <em>Christ</em>. You are <em>such </em>a drama queen,” Nile says.</p><p>Nicky actually throws back his head and laughs louder than Nile’s ever heard him. Andy’s cracking up like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all day, and even Copley and Carlotta are laughing.</p><p>“What?” Joe demands, which just makes Andy laugh harder. “Listen, it was a very trying time.”</p><p>“Oh, poor Joe didn’t get laid for three days,” Andy mocks.</p><p>“It was... ah... No, no...” Nicky is struggling to control his laughter. He says something in Arabic that makes Joe gape at him in betrayal. Breathless, he goes on in English, “No, no. He’s right, he’s right. There was... It was more than just that.”</p><p>“Yes! Exactly!” Joe points angrily at Nile, then turns to glare at Andy. “Are you finished? Can I continue?”</p><p>Andy, still wheezing with laughter, waves for him to go on.</p><p>“Thank you!”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Of all the times they had tended the sick or spent hours in fetid tents full of wounded soldiers, neither Joseph nor Nico had ever become ill themselves. Worn and weary, weak with exhaustion, and other means of wasting away were not unfamiliar, but disease had never touched them. As far as they knew, the same was true of Andy and Quỳnh.</p><p>When Nico suddenly shivered and rubbed at his forehead, brows furrowed in pain, a deep pit of dread began to open in Joseph’s stomach.</p><p>“Nico?”</p><p>For a long moment, Nico did not look at him, staring instead at his own trembling fingers as if they belonged to someone else. When he did turn, Joseph noticed for the first time that his bright, striking eyes had become dim and glassy, and his soft lips had grown thin and pale. Joseph could not have said when these changes had begun. Perhaps it had been only hours, or perhaps he had looked on blindly for days as his beloved’s body was overcome by the disease.</p><p>When Nico spoke, his voice was quiet but firm, betraying none of the fear Joseph could see in his eyes. “Move Lia to your studio. If she shows no sign of illness in the next few days, then she is likely safe, but do not touch her until you are sure.”</p><p>Heart pounding in his throat, Joseph stood, and his feet carried him a step toward Nico before he could think.</p><p>“No!” Nico commanded. He held out a hand in warning, and it shook. “No. Once she is sequestered, none of you must come into this room again, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”</p><p>Joseph could not answer. He could only stare at the broad spread of Nico’s hand, wide palm and long fingers, covered with calluses no healing could erase, calluses Joseph knew more intimately than those on his own hands. His entire world was held in that trembling palm and those unsteady fingers. </p><p>“<em>Yusuf</em>.” Nico’s pleading voice drew him back to the moment.</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I understand,” he said, and his own voice sounded strange and distant. </p><p>“Signoro?” Lia called from within the dark room, evidently roused by their tense conversation. “What is happening?”</p><p>As Nico explained the situation to Lia, Joseph tried not to dwell on the growing emptiness inside him. Predictably, Lia did not wish to leave her child, but Nico persuaded her gently. When she had washed herself and discarded her sickroom clothes, Joseph gave her a long tunic and fresh blankets and led her to the studio.</p><p>“They will be alright, won’t they?” she asked Joseph before he could leave her. “Adelina...”</p><p>“Nico will look after her,” Joseph promised. That much, at least, was certain. “He will do all that can be done, and if that is not enough, he will do more.”</p><p>“But will he look after himself?”</p><p><em>No, </em> Joseph thought. <em>He will care for her until his dying breath, final or not. </em>“Do not worry for Nico. He is strong. He will be alright.”</p><p>By the end of the next day, Nico’s strength was all but gone. </p><p>Joseph took up a permanent place outside the bedroom door, which Nico allowed him to keep open after some argument. He wanted to be close, in case Nico needed him, but the only result was that he felt more and more useless with each passing minute. He watched his beloved’s pale skin become ashen and slick with sickly sweat, watched this fearsome force of nature shiver with chills and struggle to move about the room, and he could do nothing but sit on the cold stone floor and... wait.</p><p>Adelina, on the other hand, appeared to turn a corner. Her fever broke in the early morning, and by the following day, she was able to lift her head and drink warm broth from a bowl. Color returned to her cheeks, even as it faded from Nico’s.</p><p>“You’re doing very well, <em>patatina</em>.” His voice was low and ragged, stripped of its music by illness and exhaustion, and yet there remained no other sound on earth that could carry so much kindness. </p><p>“Can I see mama soon?” Adelina asked quietly, as if she didn’t want to speak any louder than Nico.</p><p>“Very soon,” Nico promised. “We must make sure she is not sick, then she can come and say hello.”</p><p>The little girl nodded, accepting Nico’s word as if it came from God Himself. Joseph had not been nearly as patient or obedient as a child, especially if he was feeling unwell, but Nico had a way with children and wild things that could soothe any irritation and inspired immediate trust.</p><p>He would have made a good priest, Joseph thought. Or a good father. In another life, perhaps. </p><p>Finished with her bowl of broth, Adelina yawned and said, “I’m very sleepy. Will you tell me a story?”</p><p>Nico smiled, a weak reflection of the smile Joseph so loved. “I am also very tired. Perhaps Joseph can tell us both a story.”</p><p>They both turned to look at Joseph, occupying his usual place just outside the door, and he could not help but laugh. “What sort of story do you want, little one? I have many.”</p><p>“A good one,” Adelina informed him. “With monsters.”</p><p>“Oh, all stories have monsters, <em>cara mia.</em> Only sometimes the monsters are people,” Joseph said. He did have many stories, all of which were at least a little bit true, but it had been a long time since he told one to entertain a child.</p><p>“Have you ever seen a monster?” Adelina asked.</p><p>“I have seen many monsters,” Joseph replied. “The creature kind and the human kind.”</p><p>While Joseph answered Adelina’s questions, Nico moved to a soft chair in the far corner of the room, where he and Lia had taken turns sleeping. The muted light of dusk streamed through the windows, and it seemed to Joseph as if a veil of shadow had been pulled between them, so that he could see only a pale and ghostly shape and not the radiant beauty of his beloved.</p><p>“Tell me about the human kind,” Adelina declared, settling herself down into the bed.</p><p>Joseph had more than his share of stories about human monsters, but one in particular was at the front of his mind. “Humans are the most wicked kind of monster,” he told her. “Other types of monsters can only be what they are, but humans will often pretend to be good so they can do evil things.”</p><p>He thought for a moment, arranging the parts of the tale in his mind, then he began, “In a different time, in a land not far from here, there was a young boy with a kind heart...”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, Carlotta laughs.</p><p>“Is this where that story comes from?” she asks Joe. “I never knew.”</p><p>He grins. “I wondered if it was still getting passed down.”</p><p>“It was the only good bedtime story papa had,” Carlotta says.</p><p>Nile looks between them. “Wait, so, what’s the story?”</p><p>“It’s actually one you already know.” Joe’s smile softens. “Though I imagine it’s changed a little, over the generations.”</p><p>“Probably,” Carlotta agrees. “I’m not much of a storyteller, but I can tell it the way papa told me.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>In a different time, in a land not far from here, there was a young boy with a kind heart. </p><p>The boy had no family and was raised as an apprentice by a cabal of evil magicians. The magicians did not treat the boy kindly. They told him that his gentle nature was a thing to be ashamed of, and he was punished for such simple things as singing too loudly or being too friendly with other children. </p><p>Because the magicians were the only family he had ever known, the boy believed them. He believed that they knew secret truths of good and evil, and that he must rid himself of all that was soft and kind before he could also learn those truths and be initiated as one of them. He accepted whatever punishments they declared and performed whatever tasks they set him.</p><p>Try as he might, the boy could not change. His heart remained open and hungry for love, and the magicians’ lessons taught him only that he must hide his innermost self in shame.</p><p>Time passed. The young boy became a strong man and a great warrior, and his secret heart became no less kind.</p><p>When he was grown, the magicians sent him into the desert, saying he must return with a sacrifice in order to complete his studies and learn the truth of good and evil. Because he still believed the magicians were righteous and honest, the man obeyed.</p><p>For many years, the man wandered the desert without rest or food or drink. Finally, he came upon a great wolf sleeping in a grove of trees. Though he was weak and weary, the man knew that he must slay the wolf in sacrifice or else die in the attempt. Though the wolf was big and strong, it had no wish to fight, and only rose to defend itself when the man attacked.</p><p>The man and the wolf fought fiercely for three days, neither gaining advantage over the other. No matter how many times the man’s sword struck against the wolf’s hide, no cut appeared, and neither did the wolf’s claws leave any mark when they raked across the man’s skin.</p><p>At the end of the third day, the wolf drew back and transformed into the shape of a man.</p><p>“You have fought well, and we are well matched,” it said. “Sit with me and share my food. Tell me who you are and why you have disturbed my sleep.”</p><p>The man refused, for he was wise and could now see that the creature was neither wolf nor man, but a Jinn, tempting him to betray his mission.</p><p>“The fight is not finished until one of us is dead,” the man said.</p><p>“Then it will never be finished,” the Jinn replied. “For I will not fight you, and you cannot kill me.”</p><p>The man’s resolve wavered, and his kind heart began to beat loudly. In truth, he was tired of fighting and tired of wandering the desert alone. Perhaps the Jinn was not his enemy and might aid him in finding another sacrifice.</p><p>He sat and shared the bread and water the Jinn offered, which was the softest bread and the sweetest water he had ever tasted. As they spoke, he shared his secret heart with the Jinn, and it was the softest and sweetest heart the Jinn had ever known.</p><p>The two continued speaking as the sun set and the moon rose and the stars turned overhead, and by the dawn of the next day, both felt that they had been friends for years and agreed that they should never again be enemies. Indeed, the Jinn was so captivated by the man’s gentleness and so moved by his loneliness, that the Jinn vowed to remain at his side, to love and to serve him throughout his earthly life.</p><p>To seal this pact, the Jinn kissed the man’s mouth, and in so doing broke the evil magicians’ hold over him and set the man free.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Carlotta pauses. “This is where the family has some differences of opinion.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Nile asks. “I thought this was Joe’s story.”</p><p>“It is,” Carlotta says.</p><p>At the same time, Joe says, “It’s a little different.”</p><p>With an apologetic glance at Joe, Carlotta explains, “With a lot of the family, the story ends there. Pretty much only the branches that still live in Italy tell the rest of it, and even then... Like, Papa always said the Jinn kissed the man, but Nonna Flora said they embraced like lovers, and Zio Elia said they embraced like <em>brothers</em>. Then Papa and Nonna would say the man was cursed with sleeping, and Elia said he was cursed with silence, but Zia Giuseppa said it was both.”</p><p>Laughing, she adds, “There have been serious schisms over this. Giuseppa and Cugina Rachele didn’t speak for six years because Rachele decided to tell her kids the short version.”</p><p>“Tell it the way you like it,” Nicky says, giving Joe a small, knowing smile.</p><p>“Honestly, I always liked the way Nonna Flora told it,” Carlotta admits.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The magicians had long feared their apprentice would turn against them, so when the man embraced the Jinn, a terrible curse fell upon him. From the moment their bond was consummated, the man fell into a deep slumber from which he could not be woken.</p><p>Immediately, the Jinn knew what had happened and, in the blink of an eye, flew across the great distance to the temple of the evil magicians. For all their secret truths, the magicians were truly just frightened old men pretending to be strong, and their magic was nothing against the power of a Jinn’s love and rage. </p><p>One by one, the Jinn commanded them to lift the curse, but each of them claimed it was not possible. One by one, the Jinn cut their hearts from their bodies and left them to die on the floor. When the magicians were no more, the Jinn returned to the man, but found him sleeping still.</p><p>When the moon rose the next night, the man’s eyes opened, and the Jinn rejoiced, thinking the curse was done.</p><p>Then the man began to weep, saying, “This is my punishment for breaking faith. Leave me to perish so that you will not be damned, as well.”</p><p>“I swore to remain at your side, and here I will stay,” the Jinn said.</p><p>A cloud passed over the moon, and the man’s eyes closed again.</p><p>The Jinn brought him to a secret spring that was said to heal and comfort those who bathed in it and gently laid the man’s body in the cool water.</p><p>The moon rose again, and the man’s eyes opened. Before he could speak, the Jinn told him, “Be at peace, beloved. I have brought you to a place of healing and rest.”</p><p>The man wept once more, saying, “There is no peace for one such as me. I am a burden. Leave me.”</p><p>“Never,” the Jinn said.</p><p>Another cloud passed over the moon, and the man slept.</p><p>The Jinn stole a magic harp, once played by an angel and said to bring great joy to all who heard it.</p><p>When the moon rose, and the man woke, the Jinn said, “Listen, my love. I will play music to soothe your heart.”</p><p>Still, the man wept and said, “My heart is a foul thing that cannot be soothed. Why will you not leave me?”</p><p>“Because I do not wish to be anywhere you are not,” the Jinn said.</p><p>A cloud passed over the moon, and the man closed his tearful eyes.</p><p>The Jinn built a little house in the grove of trees where they had once met in battle and furnished it with a rich bed on which the man could lie.</p><p>Though it could not be seen inside the humble structure, the moon rose, and the man’s eyes opened.</p><p>“My heart, I have built us a home,” the Jinn told him. “Here you may rest, and here I will sit, until all the earth is ash.”</p><p>As on every night before, the man wept, saying, “I deserve no home and no rest, and you deserve better than to spend eternity here. Please, go.”</p><p>“I deserve to spend eternity with my beloved,” the Jinn said.</p><p>Unseen, a shadow passed over the moon, and the man returned to sleep.</p><p>The next night, the moon rose again. The man woke, but the Jinn said nothing. There was nothing left to say.</p><p>Weeping, the man cried, “I am begging you to leave me here. Why will you not go?”</p><p>“Because I love you,” the Jinn said. “Why do you wish me to leave?”</p><p>“Because I love you,” the man said.</p><p>A shadow passed over the moon, but the man’s eyes remained open.</p><p>The man’s kind heart, so hungry for love, at last was sated, and the fullness of his love and joy broke the curse the magicians had laid upon him.</p><p>The lovers embraced, and every night thereafter, when the moon rose, each would look into the other’s eyes and be grateful. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Your family’s been telling that same story for three hundred years?” Nile asks. Carlotta nods, and Nile looks at Joe. “Guess you made an impression.”</p><p>Joe shakes his head. “Nicky made an impression. I think the fact that Adelina remembered the story was a side effect.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Adelina struggled to keep her eyes open until the end of the story, then immediately drifted off to sleep. In the far corner, Nico was still, having fallen asleep almost as soon as he sat down. </p><p>Quietly, Joseph stood from his place on the floor and stretched his aching muscles. Even unstoppable healing could be baffled by hours spent on cold tile. Barefoot and silent, he slipped across the house to the kitchen, careful not to rouse Noemi as he took a cup and a bottle of wine and sank onto a couch on the other side of the room.</p><p>He would rest for a moment, he thought. Give his bones some respite from the floor. Nico and Adelina were sleeping soundly. Everything would be alright.</p><p>How long he slept, he could not say, but it was long enough for his mind to form a dream of the little cottage that stood before the house, of sunlight and a soft bed, of Nico’s arms and lips and...</p><p>A scream shattered the still night.</p><p>Joseph startled so violently that he fell off of the couch and knocked over the bottle of wine. Deep red liquid gushed out, staining his hands and feet.</p><p>Another scream, and now he could hear that it was Adelina. “<em>Mama! Nonna! Joseph!</em>”</p><p>Everything seemed to move slowly. Joseph’s heart was pounding in his ears, but it felt like it had been slowed to half speed. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the bedroom, but it felt like he was running in water. Despite the impossible slowness, he reached the door before Lia and Noemi, who were close behind him.</p><p>The first thing he saw was Adelina, leaning over the end of the bed, mouth open in horror. In the shadows of the room, it was another moment before he saw Nico.</p><p>Joseph gripped the edges of the door to keep himself from rushing in. Lia and Noemi came to a cold stop behind him.</p><p>Nico had fallen to the floor and was lying on his side, one arm outstretched toward the door. His body was shaking, not with weakness or chills, but with sharp spasms, as if he was being struck by some unseen force.  A red sheen of blood coated his clenched teeth and tight lips. Half-lidded eyes showed only white beneath the shadow of his lashes.</p><p>Joseph tried to call his name, but no sound would come. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Adelina demanded. “Help him!”</p><p>There was not a treasure in all the world that Joseph would not have traded to help his beloved. He would have given every drop of his blood, a hundred years off of his life, and everything of value he had ever touched to gather Nico into his arms in that moment. <em>No matter what happens.</em> Nico had been clear, had foreseen this possible outcome and given Joseph one simple instruction: stay out of the sickroom.</p><p>Joseph sank to his knees. He would not allow himself to wonder if sickness was the thing that could defeat their mysterious gift. He refused to consider that Nico might truly be dying, that he might be wasting the last chance he would ever have to hold his beloved. It was not possible. It could not be.</p><p>Nico’s body jerked once more, then stilled. </p><p>Slowly, as if every atom of him was loathe to let go of life, the stiffness brought on by the spasms began to fade. The twisted arm clutched against his chest released, limp fingers trailing against the floor. His clenched jaw relaxed and became slack. Beneath long lashes, his sea glass eyes were empty.</p><p>There was no air. Joseph could not breathe. </p><p>Someone let out a stifled sob. He only knew it did not come from him, because there was no breath in his lungs, not until...</p><p>Nico gasped.</p><p>Dizzy with relief, Joseph let his head rest against the door frame.</p><p>Groaning, Nico rolled onto his back and coughed. His outstretched arm flailed weakly, as if searching for something that should have been close at hand. He turned onto his side again and looked toward the door. Only once his bright, clear eyes had fixed on Joseph did he seem to return fully to himself.</p><p>Adelina was the one to break the silence. “Nico? Are you alright?”</p><p>Nico blinked at her for a moment, like he had forgotten she was there, then he replied in a hoarse voice, “Yes, little one. I am alright.” Struggling to sit up, he looked back toward Joseph and said, “It should be safe to come in now.”</p><p>He had barely finished speaking before Joseph’s arms were around him.</p><p>With Adelina recovering and Lia showing no signs of illness, Nico’s body had been the last refuge of the disease, and it had died with him. He explained his miraculous survival as a strange quirk of the infection. Lia was of a mind to question nothing, and Adelina was not entirely old enough to understand. Noemi, though, regarded Nico with wary respect afterward, and would not stand too close to him. </p><p>Abramo and the two boys had thoroughly cleaned the farmhouse from top to bottom while the women were gone, and Joseph and Nico gave them piles upon piles of bedding and cloth to replace all that had to be burned. They declined any attempt the Lazzaris made to celebrate or repay them. </p><p>Between themselves, they quickly agreed that it would be best to stay away from Sicily for a while, to let the generation who knew them pass on.</p><p>There was elsewhere in the world they could do good and still so many places they had not yet travelled, but Joseph still caught Nico looking back sadly at the house as it disappeared around a turn in the road.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Noemi believed you were an angel,” Carlotta tells Nicky. “Some distant cousins still say that an angel saved the family from the plague.”</p><p>“She’s certainly not the first person to reach that conclusion. Or the last,” Copley says. “Stories about these people are full of speculation, some claiming they’re angels or superheroes or even the spirits of dead ancestors.”</p><p>Nicky says something to Joe in that untranslatable language of theirs, and Joe laughs and kisses his hand.</p><p>“But I still don’t understand,” Copley goes on, looking at the two of them. “If you left long enough for that generation to have died, then you must have helped them again.”</p><p>Joe looks at Nicky, smiling. “You’re up.”</p><p>Nicky sighs. “We eat supper first. Then I will tell the rest.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cooking is something both Joe and Nicky seem to enjoy, but it’s not something Nile has ever seen them do together. As soon as they begin the process of preparing supper, she understands why.</p><p>Like every sniper she’s ever known, Nicky is efficient and precise. Everything has its place, everything is correctly measured, and everything is exactly timed. </p><p>Joe is... not. He’s not messy, exactly, just sort of naturally chaotic. He leaves utensils close to where he needs them, instead of returning them to the spoon rest Nicky has placed them on. He’ll bring something to the stove, then remember one last component and have to turn around again. Even in the huge, open kitchen, they still manage to get in each other’s way every five seconds.</p><p>They’re always like this, and it should be hilarious. Normally, it is. Normally Nicky just heaves a long-suffering sigh while Joe praises him for his saintly patience, but for whatever reason, cooking is different. </p><p>The third time Nicky says something in a tone that Nile doesn’t need to speak Italian or Arabic to understand, she quietly suggests to Andy that maybe the rest of them should clear out. Andy pouts like Nile is taking away her favorite entertainment, but she agrees. They grab as much wine as they can carry and shuffle Copley and Carlotta toward the back door of the house.</p><p>Out on the patio, in the fresh air and quiet evening, Copley remarks, “They’re very... married.”</p><p>He says it a little wistfully, and Nile imagines that he’s thinking of his wife. She wonders if they cooked together, or if they cooked for each other, or if neither of them liked to cook and meals were usually things that could be ordered from a restaurant or microwaved. As entrenched as he now is in their lives, Nile really doesn’t know anything about him.</p><p>That should probably change.</p><p>The meal, when it’s finished, is a mix of foods that Nile thinks of as Meditteranean and traditional Italian, and it is all amazing. Copley’s eyes roll back in his head every time he takes a bite of something new, and Andy actually takes her time eating, instead of inhaling everything like she normally does. </p><p>Conversation over dinner is surprisingly mundane: the weather, travel, updates on family. Copley earns a lot of points by profusely complimenting the house. He seems to earn some extra points with Joe when he realizes he should be directing those compliments to Nicky and starts asking about architecture and design.</p><p>When dinner becomes dessert and the wine is replaced by the thickest, blackest coffee Nile has ever seen, conversation starts to dwindle. When even that little bit of chatter fades, and a few expectant glances are cast at Nicky, seated at the head of the table, he begins.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It was another seventy years, at least, before Joseph and Nico returned to Sicily. </p><p>Nico liked Marsala. It was lively and active, busy enough that two strangers could pass through without notice, but not so crowded as some other cities had become. Not in the mood for crowds of any kind, he sat on an old stone wall at the edge of town, reading a book in the warm afternoon sunlight while he waited for Joseph to run an errand.</p><p>“Signoro Nico?”</p><p>He looked up automatically. It was rare that anyone called his name, other than Joseph or Andromache, but neither stood before him. Instead, an elderly woman, leaning on the arm of a girl who was likely her granddaughter, stared at him from the edge of the road.</p><p>When she saw his face lifted, she smiled broadly. “It <em>is</em> you!”</p><p>“Have we met?” Nico asked politely, rising from his seat on the wall. She did not seem familiar, and it had been so long since he last came to the island that anyone who still lived would have been a small child then.</p><p>The old woman was standing close to Nico now, looking intently into his eyes. “I am Adelina Sansone, but my family name was Lazzari.”</p><p>Recognition struck in his mind like a match. A cluster of memories all surfaced at once: a pale little girl under a pile of blankets, Joseph sitting just out of reach, fever and cold and a fear he could not shake, a farmhouse, a father asking for help. Nico tried to keep his expression neutral, but the elder Adelina was watching closely and instantly saw the spark.</p><p>“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You are Nico Genovese. You cared for me when I was ill.”</p><p>Quickly, Nico shook his head. “I am sorry, signora. I think you have mistaken me for my father. He was also called Nico, and I r-”</p><p>“No,” Adelina cut him off. “For nearly a week, the only faces I saw were my mother’s and yours, and I clearly recall both.”</p><p>The young woman at Adelina’s side looked between the two of them in confusion. “Grandmother, do you mean when you were ill as a child? That was many years ago. You must be thinking of this gentleman’s father.”</p><p>“I am not,” Adelina insisted firmly. She gestured at the side of Nico’s face. “This mark here? That is not something that would be passed from father to son.”</p><p>“Grandmother, please.” To Nico, the young woman said, “Forgive her, signoro. She is confused.”</p><p>“I am not!” Adelina said again, wrenching her arm away from her granddaughter and pointing fiercely at Nico. “I do not know how, but you are the same man.”</p><p>Age had clearly not dulled her wits nor diminished her memory. Centuries of instinct told Nico that he should cling to the lie, should let the young woman believe her grandmother was simply old and had momentarily lost her reason, but to do so, to undermine the good sense of this sharp-minded woman, felt like an injustice.</p><p>He thought of what Andromache would say and sighed in resignation. “<em>Sì, patatina.</em>”</p><p>The young woman’s jaw dropped, but Adelina grinned in delight. “I could never forget your face, signoro, or your kindness. My grandmother believed you were an angel.”</p><p>Nico could not help but smile in return. “Your grandmother was a formidable woman. She would be proud that you have grown to be just as strong.”</p><p>“You are very kind to say so,” Adelina said with a chuckle. “There was a man who lived with you. I do not recall his name, but I do remember he told me a story about a kind man and a Jinn.”</p><p>“Joseph,” Nico supplied.</p><p>“Yes! He was very handsome. He would sit at the door, in case you needed him.” Her smile dimmed a little as she asked, “Is he...?”</p><p>“He is well. I am waiting for him to join me, now,” Nico assured her.</p><p>“Good,” she said, obviously pleased. “My mother often said you were the kindest man she had ever met, and that he was the most generous. She spoke highly of you to her dying day.” She gestured to the young woman at her side, who seemed more and more confused by the conversation. “My granddaughter, Nicolina, is named for you.”</p><p>Nico felt at once warmed and taken aback. To be thanked for giving aid was one thing, but to be remembered in such a profound way, was... It was too much. He was still searching for words, when he caught a glimpse of Joseph coming up the road, a new pack slung over his shoulder.</p><p>Adelina noticed him, too, and said in an undertone to her granddaughter, “You see, Lina, that is Joseph. I told you he was handsome.”</p><p>“Yes, grandmother, I see,” the young woman replied absently, but she was looking at Nico.</p><p>Nicolina. Her name was Nicolina, after a man who once tended a sick child. He felt a strange and unexpected impulse to protect her, to provide for her, and ensure that his name would always be a blessing. </p><p>Joseph approached with the friendly smile he always wore for strangers, but before he could offer a greeting, Adelina said, “I wager you will not remember me, either.”</p><p>Without pause, Joseph gave her a respectful bow. “Forgive me, signora. Surely, your beauty is too radiant to remain in my memory, else I am certain I could not forget such a lovely face.”</p><p>Nico rolled his eyes. Even he was not immune to Joseph’s charm, but there was a limit. Adelina, on the other hand, practically giggled when he kissed her hand. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” Nile groans, and everyone at the table laughs. Turning to Nicky, Nile asks, “How do you stand him?”</p><p>Looking at Joe, who is seated at the opposite end of the table, he smiles. “He makes up for it.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Once he understood who Adelina was and what was happening, Joseph was nearly as stunned as Nico.</p><p>“I think your memory is better than mine, little one,” he said. “Though I suppose it is hard to forget someone as striking as my Nico.”</p><p>“It is hard to forget the man who saved my life,” Adelina replied. Nico thought that was an exaggeration, but it seemed rude to argue.</p><p>They spent some time talking as friends do, and Adelina told them that she now lived in the old farmhouse with Lina and her husband. Her brothers’ interests had drawn them elsewhere, but one of her nephews had returned to Sicily and lived not far away. She confessed that when Joseph and Nico had left so suddenly and been gone so long, her mother feared the plague had taken them after all, and her father later said he thought they might have been arrested or killed. </p><p>“When he spoke of injustice in the world, I believe your names were ever on his heart, even when he did not speak them aloud,” Adelina told them. “It was the same when he spoke of kindness.”</p><p>Nico could not look at her. His mind buzzed, unable to fully comprehend her words. In truth, he had done so very little to help her as a child, only kept her comfortable and prayed that her body would fight the disease on its own. That he had been remembered, not only with fondness but with admiration, was overwhelming.</p><p>Joseph, for his part, was clearly moved, but did not seem so staggered as Nico was. Of course, he was the sort of man that strangers often admired, whether for the good deeds he did or for the many wonderful qualities he possessed, and was more accustomed to praise. Nico had never been such a man.</p><p>“It is for this reason my younger brother, Giusi, chose to study the law,” Adelina went on. “He spent his life giving aid to those who others would not, and his eldest grandson now intends to do the same.”</p><p>“That’s remarkable,” Joseph said. Given that he and Nico must necessarily live outside of the law, the novelty of an advocate for the dispossessed was fascinating.</p><p>After a time, a mule cart came up the road, driven by a young man with wild black curls. Upon seeing it, Adelina exclaimed, “At last! Our grand chariot!”</p><p>Lina helped her to stand from where she had been seated on the ground, and Nico and Joseph lifted her gently into the cart. Indicating the young driver, Lina said, “My husband, Isaia.” To her husband, she said, “This is Signoro Nico and Signoro Joseph. They are... old friends of my family.”</p><p>She had remained quiet throughout their conversation, listening intently, and Nico was not sure if she fully believed that they were who they claimed to be. For all she knew, they might have been taking advantage of her grandmother’s confusion and intended to reap some gain from this ruse. Nico could not blame her for being suspicious.</p><p>“Are you going to your old house?” Adelina asked Joseph and Nico.</p><p>“Assuming it is still standing,” Joseph replied, laughing.</p><p>Nico could not laugh at the thought of their home in ruins, however unlikely that might be.</p><p>“Let us take you,” Adelina commanded. “It is too far to walk, and we can talk more.”</p><p>They protested, but she would accept no resistance. Eventually, Nico and Joseph arranged themselves in the little cart with Adelina, while Lina sat beside her husband, and they set off down the road toward the house.</p><p>As they went, Adelina pointed out some of the many things that had changed since their last visit, describing the people who currently lived in each of the houses they passed and offering a few anecdotes that had occurred over the years. The journey was a little more than two hours, and Adelina and Joseph kept up a lively conversation the whole time, with occasional interjections from Lina and Isaia.</p><p>Nico’s thoughts were elsewhere. If the memory of them was now embedded in this family, perhaps it was no longer safe to keep the house in Sicily as a permanent refuge. Would they be able to relocate all the treasures stored there, or would they be forced to abandon every precious thing they had worked so hard to preserve? Even if all the books and art and instruments could be saved, the thought of giving up the house itself, even if it was only a shell, opened up a deep well of grief in Nico’s heart. His true home was and always would be wherever Joseph was, but this house had love etched indelibly into every wall. He could not give voice to his love in the way that Joseph did; he would never write poetry or compose music or paint a portrait as a tangible expression of his devotion. When their time inevitably came, there would be a library full of masterpieces as proof of how very deeply Joseph had loved Nico. This house, this home, was all there was to show that Nico had loved Joseph just as much.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the Taj Mahal.”</p><p>Copley is the one who says it, awed and reverent, but Nile’s thinking it, too. It’s a monument to a love that has existed longer than the very concept of romantic love. </p><p>“In a way,” Nicky says. “But the Taj Mahal is a tomb. This place was meant to hold only life.”</p><p>There is a moment of quiet. Joe and Nicky are looking at each other across the length of the table. Everyone else is reflecting on the story in their own way.</p><p>Finally, Joe says, “We told Adelina everything. About us. About Andy and Quỳnh. About who we were and why it was so important that no one else could ever know.”</p><p>“She just nodded and said that she would take care of the house while we were away,” Nicky adds. “Just like that.”</p><p>Joe laughs. “We figured she’d be at least a little, I dunno, surprised? But no. She just took it all in stride.”</p><p>“She was a remarkable woman,” Nicky agrees, smiling sadly. “It was not many years later that she died.”</p><p>“Nicolina took over the house, then,” Joe continues. “After that, it was... Shit. Was it one of the Elias?”</p><p>Nicky shakes his head. “No, I think it was Gionata. His son was Elia, but he handled the money, not the house.”</p><p>Carlotta holds up a hand and rises from the table. “Hold on, I have a record.”</p><p>She picks up a thick binder from the coffee table and opens it to one of the first few pages. Setting the binder in front of Nicky, she says, “Here. I finally managed to get all of it into one list.”</p><p>Nicky looks at the page and mutters softly, “<em>Madre de Dio</em>. So many.”</p><p>He slides the binder to his right for Andy, who moves it between her and Nile to study, and... yeah. It’s a lot of names. </p><p>There are codes and abbreviations that probably only mean something to Carlotta, but the names and the years beside them are pretty self-explanatory. <em>Adelina Sansone, Nicolina di Luca, Gionata Lazzari, Elia Lazzari, Noemi di Luca</em>, and so many others. At the end of the list, with no year to mark the end of their service, were <em>Flora Lazzari</em> and <em>Carlotta Lazzari</em>. </p><p>There is a second list of names beside the first, with overlapping sets of years, and Nile immediately realizes that these are the names the house has been owned under. The first few lines just say <em>Genovese</em>, and when the given names begin, they’re all variations on Nicky’s: <em>Nicola, Nicolai, Nicholas, Nicoletta, Niké</em>... and the feminine names all have a masculine name attached. It’s logical enough that an old family might give all their first-born kids an inherited name, but the “husband” names are all different, because obviously it would be weird if the heiresses all married dudes named <em>Joe</em>. </p><p>Andy passes the binder across the table to Copley, who studies it with his mouth open. “Your entire family knows... all of this?” he asks Carlotta, but she shakes her head.</p><p>“The whole family knows that we have ties to the Genovese family. There are a lot of stories about times our families have helped each other, but only those of us who work directly for the uncles know the truth.”</p><p>Copley looks up at her, frowning. “I’m sorry, the uncles?”</p><p>“Zio Nico and Zio Joe,” she explains, shrugging. “That’s just what everyone calls them. I don’t know why.”</p><p>“It started with Lina, didn’t it?” Joe says, and Nicky is already nodding.</p><p>“Yes. We wrote letters, for a time, and she addressed them to Zio Nico.” He smiles just a little, like he’s trying not to. “I liked being a <em>zio</em>.”</p><p>Carlotta squeezes his shoulder as she sits back in her chair. “Officially, the Genovese family is very old, very wealthy, and very private, and those of us who work for them are paid <em>very</em> well to protect that privacy.”</p><p>“Surely people must be curious,” Copley says. “Not just your family but your colleagues. Don’t they wonder about these mysterious clients?”</p><p>“Of course,” Carlotta replies. “When anyone asks, I just tell them the truth: that these are not the sort of people to cross, and it’s best not to ask too many questions.”</p><p>Nile snorts. “Makes it sound like they’re mob bosses.”</p><p>Carlotta gives her a sly smile. “If you imply an Italian family has any kind of power, <em>everyone </em> assumes they’re mafia, even other Italians.”</p><p>“Yeah, we had a little problem with that back in... Was it the seventies?” Joe says. “Some detective heard some rumor and started poking around. Giuseppe had to invent this fake charity organization to throw him off.”</p><p>“Oh, the family foundation is a legitimate entity,” Carlotta tells him. “It was an ingenious set-up, and since a lot of the money actually <em>does</em> go to charity, it helps throw off suspicion.”</p><p>“Why am I not surprised you give money to charity,” Copley says to Nicky, and Nile has to agree.</p><p>Nicky shrugs. “Our purpose has always been to do what good we can. If we have money, then that is another way we can do good.”</p><p>Copley shakes his head. “Incredible.”</p><p>“See, this is why you two need to talk,” Joe says, pointing between Copley and Carlotta. “The Lazzaris have been doing a damn good job of covering our asses for a long time, and I’m sure you’ve got some tricks that could help out Carlotta.”</p><p>“We thought you should also be aware that there were others who knew about us,” Nicky adds. “And that you can trust them.”</p><p>Joe sits up suddenly. “That reminds me! We need to get Nile in the security system so she can get into the library.”</p><p>“The library?” Copley asks. Nile can already see him imagining what kind of historical collection a thousand-year-old rich-as-fuck gay couple must have acquired.</p><p>Carlotta and Nicky share a look, and Nicky shrugs. “Alright, you two, come with me,” Carlotta says to Nile and Copley. “<em>You</em> get your security access, and <em>you</em> get a privilege that literally no one outside of this family has ever had.”</p><p>She retrieves the keys from the drawer in the kitchen and leads them through the hidden door, down to the library. Getting Nile access is as easy as scanning in her hand and having her choose a passcode, and then they’re in.</p><p>Copley looks like a kid in a candy store, and Nile can’t even blame him.</p><p>Carlotta’s tour of the library is a little more structured than Joe’s was, and now Nile knows that there is some order to all of the books. When she points out Joe’s notebooks and paintings, Copley starts to reach for one of the long tubes on the shelf, and Carlotta honest-to-god slaps his hand.</p><p>“Do you go to museums and start poking the art? Huh?”</p><p>Copley withdraws his hand with a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”</p><p>“Ask Joe to show you some,” Nile tells him. “You say nice things about his paintings, you might just win him over.”</p><p>“I’m not sure there’s enough flattery in the world to accomplish that,” Copley grumbles.</p><p>Carlotta and Nile exchange a look, and Nile just knows they’re thinking the same thing. In unison, they say, “Nicky.”</p><p>Copley blinks. “What?”</p><p>“The surest way to Zio Joe’s heart is to praise Zio Nico,” Carlotta says.</p><p>“Don’t like, be weird about it,” Nile adds. “But yeah. The best way to get Joe to like you is to appreciate his art and be, like, super nice to Nicky.”</p><p>“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. Nile can already see the wheels turning in his head.</p><p>Because she absolutely cannot help fucking with him, she goes on, “But it goes both ways. If you ever insult Nicky, even a little bit, Joe will never forget it. Honestly, neither will Andy.”</p><p>Copley’s eyes widen just enough to show exactly how much he does not want to be on the bad side of any immortal vigilantes, and he nods tensely. “I... Yes. Of course. Thank you.”</p><p>Nile makes a careful mental note of his face, just so she can describe it to Joe, later.</p><p>When immediate business is settled and Carlotta departs for the night, she leaves her documents for Copley to look through and says they can discuss how to best coordinate efforts the next day. Andy waits until Carlotta has said her goodbyes and is well out of the house before she turns on Joe.</p><p>“What. The actual. Fuck.”</p><p>Neither Joe nor Nicky seem all that surprised by her reaction, but Nile and Copley certainly are. </p><p>Calmly, Joe says, “Andy...” </p><p>“We have been busting our asses to stay off the radar, and the whole time you’ve had this secret cult that knows <em>everything</em>?”</p><p>“You knew all this!” Joe tells her. “You knew we had an arrangement with the family t-”</p><p>I knew you had a fucking <em>&gt;housekeeper</em>!” Andy shouts back. “I knew you had some little old lady who took care of things while you were gone, I didn’t know you were <em>Uncle Joe</em>! What the hell were you thinking?”</p><p>Joe takes a deep breath. “They’ve been keeping this secret f-”</p><p>“No, I know what you were thinking,” Andy cuts him off. “You were thinking about your precious house. All your precious shit. You <em>weren’t</em> thinking about what would happen if someone made the connection between us and your next door neighbors.”</p><p>“We were thinking about that, actually.” Joe is clearly starting to lose patience. “We’ve been thinking about how to protect them <em>and </em>us from the beginning.”</p><p>“And your solution was to hire them?” Andy shakes her head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Joe. This is a huge risk. <em>This</em> is how we end up back in another lab. In another cage.”</p><p>Something in Joe’s face shifts, and he shares a brief look with Nicky before he turns away.</p><p>“We cannot go through the world without leaving a mark on it,” Nicky says gently. “We have seen that. Copley has proven that.”</p><p>Andy glares at the back of Joe’s head, then turns her glare on Nicky. This is how they win arguments, Nile has noticed, at least with Andy. Joe steps up first, takes the initial pushback, and when he’s about to lose his temper, he backs out and lets Nicky come in as the voice of reason. It’s almost the exact opposite of how they fight, and, just like combat, it’s a technique they’ve perfected over centuries. Andy obviously knows what they’re doing, but that doesn’t mean she’s figured out how to beat it.</p><p>“That’s why we have to be careful,” Andy says.</p><p>“It’s why we need <em>allies</em>,” Nicky replies. “Not just the mercenaries we pay enough not to care, but people who care enough to want to help.”</p><p>Andy huffs and shakes her head again, but she doesn’t say anything. </p><p>“We’ve been doing this alone for so long, <em>sorella</em>,” Nicky goes on. “But we don’t have to. We <em>can’t</em>.”</p><p>“The fuck would you know about <em>alone</em>?” she snaps. Immediately, she squeezes her eyes shut and rubs at her temples. “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s not what this is about.”</p><p>“Copley didn’t find them,” Nile says suddenly. All eyes turn to her, and she goes to stand next to Nicky. “Think about it, Andy. A CIA agent who was actually looking for you, who knew who you were, didn’t make the connection to the Lazzari family. That’s not nothing.”</p><p>“It’s really not,” Copley chimes in. He’s been standing quietly off to the side, probably afraid of incurring anyone’s wrath.</p><p>Andy points angrily at him. “You get to listen. You do <em>not</em> get to have an opinion.”</p><p>That gets Joe to rejoin the conversation. “You think the security expert shouldn’t have an opinion about our security?”</p><p>“That’s literally what you hired him for,” Nile points out.</p><p>Andy looks between the four of them like they’ve suddenly ganged up on her. Nicky is the one who breaks the line and steps forward to take her hand. </p><p>“We cannot help those in need if we are always trying to protect ourselves,” he tells her earnestly. “And we cannot protect ourselves from threats we do not understand.”</p><p>“I understand fear,” Andy says bitterly. “I understand greed.”</p><p>“Do you understand how to hide the source of money by using a false business?” he asks. “Because I do not, but Carlotta does. Do you understand... What is it called? Social Media? Because I certainly do not.”</p><p>Andy’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh, and Nile thinks about Joe saying that Nicky has a way with children and wild things. Andy has existed longer than civilization; wildness is just built into who she is.</p><p>She sighs. “Fine. I’ll go along with this. <em>For now.</em> But I want to know every last detail about this set-up, and nobody brings in any more co-conspirators without my say-so. Got it?”</p><p>No one has any arguments with that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nile can’t sleep.</p>
<p>It might be the nap or all the stories banging around in her head or just that she ate too much food. Whatever the reason, she flops around in her very soft bed for an hour before she gives up and goes out on the balcony, hoping the view and the fresh air will settle her.</p>
<p>Andy is already there, lounging in a big deck chair, predictably, with a bottle of wine. When she sees Nile, she smiles and taps a finger to her lips. Nile frowns, and Andy touches her own ear, then points over the edge of the balcony. Leaning against the rail, Nile pauses to listen and immediately hears a few notes of soft music drift up from below, along with a sweet smell that Nile can’t place. Joe must be on the patio with one of the myriad instruments she saw in his studio, probably enjoying the cool night air with Nicky. </p>
<p>Careful to keep her voice low, Nile asks Andy, “Feel like some company?”</p>
<p>“Always,” Andy says, offering her the bottle. “Can’t sleep?”</p>
<p>“Just thinking.” Nile sits down in the chair beside her and takes a quick drink.</p>
<p>“You wanna talk about it?”</p>
<p>Nile doesn’t answer right away. There’s a lot of stuff in her head, a lot of new information in the past two days, but one thing keeps coming back. </p>
<p>“I was thinking about my brother,” she tells Andy. “Thinking about if he’ll ever have kids and if I coulda been Auntie Nile. Wondering if maybe I still could.”</p>
<p>It’s an echo of a conversation she’s already had with Andy, and with Booker, and one she’s had with herself a dozen times. No matter who she talks to or how she looks at it, though, she keeps coming back to the same conclusion.</p>
<p>“But then I think about what that would even look like,” she goes on. “I could stick around for a little while and then bounce, like I thought about doing, but that would just delay the inevitable. Won’t make it hurt any less for anybody. Now I’m thinking I could do some kind of set-up like what Joe and Nicky have here, but... But would I really be okay with only having one or two people at a time knowing the truth? Would I be okay asking them to lie like that? Putting them in danger or making them work for me to keep my secrets?”</p>
<p>She shakes her head. Her brother would do it in a heartbeat, but the thought of putting that burden on his kids, on their kids, on and on... That’s not something she can force on them.</p>
<p>Andy is just watching her, listening, letting Nile make her own decisions, and Nile loves her so goddamn much for that.</p>
<p>Nile takes a breath. “Adelina chose to take care of the house. She knew what she was getting into. Everybody else in that family that’s worked for Joe and Nicky, they chose it. They maybe didn’t know everything going in, but they knew enough. I can’t make that choice for my family, or for anybody else.”</p>
<p>“We made it for Copley,” Andy points out.</p>
<p>“Copley doesn’t have kids,” Nile replies. “And he got pulled in because he fucked up. When he’s gone, maybe we find someone else, but his family’s not going to inherit his mistake.”</p>
<p>Andy hums thoughtfully. From the patio below, a bright peal of laughter bubbles up in the night. It sounds like Nicky.</p>
<p>After a moment, Andy says, “I think we should stay here for a little while. Maybe use it as a base. Long as nobody follows us back after a job, it should be pretty secure. Few perimeter upgrades, maybe.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you talk to Nicky about putting a barbed wire fence around his house,” Nile says, and Andy laughs.</p>
<p>“We could mount some turret guns up here,” Andy suggests, pointing to the balcony rail. “Maybe put some bars on the windows.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s voice rings out abruptly in the still night, “Absolutely not, Andromache!”</p>
<p>Nile and Andy both snicker. “Damn, he’s got good hearing,” Nile whispers loudly. </p>
<p>Below them, Nicky says something Nile can’t make out, and Joe’s big booming laugh echoes off the walls of the house.</p>
<p>With a mischievous grin, Andy asks Nile, “You wanna go crash their party?”</p>
<p>For a hot second, Nile thinks maybe they shouldn’t, that maybe they should let Joe and Nicky have this time alone, but... no. Not right now. Right now, they’re here as a family to figure out their family shit, and Nile wants  to cuddle with her weird immortal siblings. “Yeah, let’s go.”</p>
<p>Before they head downstairs, Andy bangs loudly on the middle bedroom door. “Hey, Copley! You wanna be part of the gang, now’s your chance.”</p>
<p>Nile just laughs and gets her new silk robe out of her bedroom. It’s gonna be a long night.</p>
<p>Out on the patio, Joe and Nicky are in the hammock. Nicky is sprawled out with Joe laying back against his chest, and Joe has a ukulele in his hands, presumably the source of the music. The one thing that is really, jarringly out of place in this adorable little scene is that Nicky is smoking a joint.</p>
<p>And that would be the source of the sweet smell, Nile thinks.</p>
<p>Andy makes a delighted sound and says something to Nicky in Italian, holding out her hand. Nicky sighs heavily and gives her a small plastic bag and a lighter. So this is what they’re doing. Alright then.</p>
<p>Copley actually stops and stares at Nicky for a moment, apparently still half asleep. Looking at Nile, he says, “That’s rather unexpected.”</p>
<p>Nile shrugs. “Welcome to the club.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s response to all of this is to gesture vaguely at his head and say something in what Nile <em>thinks</em> is Italian. </p>
<p>She raises an eyebrow at Joe, who translates, “Helps with brain things.”</p>
<p>“Does it also make him forget English?” Nile asks.</p>
<p>She means it to be a joke, but Nicky scowls and spits, “<em>Fanculo l’inglese</em>.”</p>
<p>Nile doesn’t need a translation for that. Surprised, she says, “Damn. Tell us how you really feel.”</p>
<p>Nicky lifts his head, still frowning. Yeah, he’s definitely high. In English, his accent a little thicker than usual, he asks, “You want to know how I feel about English?”</p>
<p>In unison, Joe and Andy both roll their eyes, sighing, and Andy grumbles, “Here we go.”</p>
<p>“I <em>hate</em> English,” Nicky growls. “It is an ugly language. It’s like Frankenstein’s monster. All its little limbs stitched together from the pieces it hacked off of every country it invades. The history of British and American colonialism is written right there in its language. It tastes like blood and stones in my mouth. I hate it.”</p>
<p>Nile blinks at him, stunned. She looks at Andy, who just shakes her head and offers Nile the joint she has now lit. “Okay, then. I’ll work on my Italian.”</p>
<p>She sits next to Andy on the little outdoor sofa and takes a pull on the joint. It’s been more than a decade since she smoked pot, but it tastes <em>much</em> better than she remembers. That, or this is significantly higher quality stuff that whatever her highschool friends could get a hold of. Coughing a little, she offers the joint to Copley, who is sitting on her other side, and she’s a little surprised when he takes it. </p>
<p>“I haven’t done this since college,” he says. He takes a drag and coughs slightly harder than Nile, but not enough that she needs to tease him for it. In a raspy voice, he adds, “You people are nothing like I expected.”</p>
<p>Andy snatches the joint out of his hand with a grin. “We’re full of surprises.”</p>
<p>Joe goes back to softly strumming the ukulele and says something in their private Italian-Arabic that makes Nicky snort. Nile relaxes into Andy’s side, and Andy slings an arm around her shoulders. They’re definitely full of surprises, Nile thinks, but mostly she’s been surprised at how grounded and human they all are. It would be so easy for immortal warriors to become detached and jaded, and popular fiction would suggest that was inevitable. Instead, they’re a bunch of soft, badass weirdos who love each other. She imagines Copley is having some similar thoughts.</p>
<p>“Weirdest death,” she asks abruptly. Everyone looks at her. “What? I’m curious.”</p>
<p>There’s a few seconds of silence, presumably while everyone thinks, then Andy says, “Joe fell out of a helicopter, once.” She takes a quick hit off the joint and adds, “Onto another helicopter.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh, and whose fault was that?” Joe glowers at her. “Who was flying the helicopter I fell out of?”</p>
<p>Andy shrugs. “You should have put on your seatbelt.”</p>
<p>Joe laughs and shakes his head. Turning to Nile, he says, “Andy got mauled by a bear.”</p>
<p>“It was trying to steal our food!”</p>
<p>“A <em>small</em> bear.”</p>
<p>“It was relatively small <em>for a bear,</em>” Andy insists. “It was still taller than I was.”</p>
<p>It’s Nicky’s turn, and Nile looks at him expectantly, only to realize that he is very deliberately not looking at anyone. “Nicky...”</p>
<p>He shakes his, still looking away, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Joe tilts his head back to look at Nicky, and they share a glance. Whatever Nicky’s thinking of must be really memorable, because a flush rises on his cheeks, and Joe cracks up laughing.</p>
<p>“Oh no,” Nile groans. It honestly did not occur to her until this instant that someone’s answer might be a sex thing. “Oh god. I changed my mind. I don’t wanna know.”</p>
<p>Nicky covers his face with one hand, stifling laughter, and Joe absolutely relishes every syllable as he says, “Erotic asphyxiation.” </p>
<p>Copley, who is mid-drag on the joint, makes a sound like he’s having a heart attack, and Andy nearly falls on the floor laughing. All Nile can do is keep groaning, “Oh my god, no. <em>No.</em>”</p>
<p>“And it wasn’t my fault!” Joe clarifies. “It was absolutely not at all my fault.”</p>
<p>“God! No, ugh. No details!” Nile begs, determined to head this off before it goes any further. “<em>Please</em>, no details.”</p>
<p>“I, however, will be asking for details later,” Andy tells Joe.</p>
<p>“Alright, what about you?” Copley asks Nile, and she is forever in his debt for changing the subject.</p>
<p>“I mean, I jumped a guy out the window of a skyscraper,” she says. She’ll probably rack up some weird ones as the years go by, but that’s still her wildest death to date.</p>
<p>“Which was awesome!” Joe declares. Nile hasn’t seen him smoking, but he might be a little high, too.</p>
<p>“It was pretty badass,” Andy agrees. </p>
<p>“Okay, then. New category,” Nile announces. “Most badass death.”</p>
<p>“All of them,” Andy says immediately. “Every single one.”</p>
<p>“I believe it,” Nile replies, not even about to argue.</p>
<p>“It’s true,” Joe confirms. “Y’know, aside from the bear, it’s true.”</p>
<p>Andy sticks out her foot and kicks the edge of the hammock, making it swing. “Alright, mister fell-out-of-a-chopper, when have you ever been badass?”</p>
<p>“Hey, now! Hey! I’m such a badass...” He pauses, and it’s definitely for dramatic effect. “I have a lower death rate than the rest of you. <em>Including Nile</em>.”</p>
<p>Nile, Andy, and Copley all protest at once.</p>
<p>“No way! I just got here, like, yesterday!”</p>
<p>“You fucking liar!”</p>
<p>“That can’t possibly be true.”</p>
<p>“Listen! Listen!” Joe waves for them to be quiet. “Average number of deaths per year, right? Andy and Nicky average about three, Nile’s managed to get four in less than a year, and I only average one.”</p>
<p>“Okay, even if I accept those numbers, which I don’t!” Andy says. “It’s not because you’re a badass, it’s because <em>Nicky</em> is a badass who takes all the hits for you.” </p>
<p>Joe’s face goes through a series of expressions that includes everything from affronted to devastated to downright proud and finally lands on bemused. “You might be right about that, actually.”</p>
<p>Once again, it’s Nicky’s turn, and Nile suspects this is going to be equally shocking and epic.</p>
<p>“What do you think? The Nazis or the tank?” Joe asks him. “Oh! Or that time in Bizerte?”</p>
<p>“Oh, the Nazis!” Andy exclaims. “Jesus, that was cool.”</p>
<p>In unison, she and Joe raise a fist, as if they’re holding a knife, and say something together in German that Nile guesses is an imitation of Nicky. Then they mime a dramatic slashing motion and drop their arms, laughing. Nicky just keeps smoking, staring serenely up at the night sky. </p>
<p>When Nicky doesn’t answer right away, Joe sets a hand on his knee and asks gently, “<em>Amato</em>?”</p>
<p>Nicky is quiet for another second, then he says something Nile can’t translate and starts to sit up, pushing Joe away so he can scramble off the hammock. Once he’s up, he says something to Nile in Italian, then shakes his head, and tries again in English. “Do you want to go swimming?”</p>
<p>Nile opens her mouth, and what she genuinely intends to say is <em>what</em>, because it’s the middle of the night, and Nicky is high as fuck. What she actually says is, “Hell yes!”</p>
<p>She might also be a little high. Damn, that is good weed.</p>
<p>Nicky takes her hand and pulls her after him down the path toward the beach. Behind them, Joe calls out, “Be careful! Have fun!”</p>
<p><em>Joe is such a mom</em>, Nile thinks. She giggles, and Nicky looks back at her with a bright grin, like he’s just happy she’s happy. He lets go of her hand when they reach the beach and runs straight into the dark waves, fully clothed. Nile has enough presence of mind to drop her robe, but she figures she might as well follow suit and runs in with her sleep shorts and tank top on.</p>
<p>The water is warmer than she expects. Nicky is already out far enough that he keeps disappearing and reappearing between the gentle swell of waves. She feels a momentary stab of concern, but then reminds herself that it’s not that far and that he can’t actually drown. Also that he’s been swimming from this beach for literally hundreds of years.</p>
<p>She thinks about her brand new swimsuits, neatly folded in a drawer in her bedroom, and she sighs. There will be time to wear them, just not tonight. She ventures just far enough from the shore that she can lie back and float and lets the waves rock her while she looks up at the scattered stars overhead. </p>
<p>Time evaporates, an effect of both the marijuana and the weightless drifting. The world is alive and at peace around her. Everything is sea and salt and wind and the warm glow of satisfaction in her chest.</p>
<p>After a little while, she starts to feel heavy and sleepy. Turning herself upright in the water, she finds that the shore is further away than she realized, but not so far that she can’t easily swim back. She can see the slope of the hill rising away from the beach and the moonlight striking the pale sand. Looking around, the one thing she can’t see is Nicky.</p>
<p>“Nicky?” she calls out. She knows there’s no logical reason to worry, but the fading haze of the pot adds an edge to her concern. Louder, she shouts, “Nicky!”</p>
<p>“<em>Sono qui.</em>” His voice is distant, out toward the open sea, but it’s clear.</p>
<p>“Just checking,” she tells him. “I’m gonna swim back.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sì. Sto arrivando.</em>”</p>
<p>The swim to shore makes her arms ache, which just tells her it’s been way too long since she went swimming, but the ache fades almost as soon as she’s out of the water. She hesitates for a second, then spreads her robe out on the sand and sits down on it to dry.</p>
<p>It’s a still night, quiet except for the waves splashing and the wind rustling through the grass. Nile shivers as the cool breeze dries the water off of her skin, leaving nothing but gooseflesh and salt.</p>
<p>A little bit of worry is just starting to creep back up her spine when she spots Nicky in the water. He is, to put it mildly, a much stronger swimmer than she is, and he reaches the shallows quickly. Nile thinks about <em>James Bond</em> movies as he walks out of the water, but Nicky doesn’t look anything like a secret agent or a Bond girl. His light linen clothes are plastered to him, making his long limbs look gangly, and his short hair is sticking to his forehead like choppy bangs.</p>
<p>He strips off his shirt and wrings it out on the sand before dropping down beside Nile on the spread-out robe. She leans her head comfortably on his shoulder, and he kisses the top of her head.</p>
<p>Nile lets out a contented sigh. “This is nice.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sì. Bella,</em>” he says, resting his head against hers.</p>
<p>They sit in silence for a minute, just looking out at the sea. Nile thinks about the house over the hill behind them, of all the stories etched into it and the history it contains. That’s the point of a house, really: a place to gather precious things, whether it’s narratives, people, or just stuff that means something. She misses her mother’s house, she loves Joe and Nicky’s house, and those two feelings settle into a permanent place beside each other in her heart.</p>
<p>A thought suddenly pops into her head, and she asks, “Hey, what’s your spiritual theory? About why our brains don’t heal certain things.”</p>
<p>Nicky is quiet for a moment before he answers, thankfully in English, “I believe that God gives us what we need to become who we are meant to be. Perhaps it is arrogant, but I believe He gave me a capacity for great sadness so that I would learn to be capable of great empathy. I believe He made my mind as it is because He knew that is what my family would need.” </p>
<p>“It’s like destiny,” Nile says, and he gives a little laugh that vibrates pleasantly in her head.</p>
<p>“It’s like destiny,” he agrees.</p>
<p>Nile wonders what God has given her to become who she’s meant to be, what she has that her family needs.</p>
<p>After another beat of silence, Nicky asks, “Would you like to hear another story?”</p>
<p>“Is it a good one?”</p>
<p>“There is good in it.”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sebastien only came to the house a handful of times in two centuries. The first time was in the dead of a summer so hot there was no choice but to spend as much time as possible cooling off in the sea.</p>
<p>When they weren’t splashing like children in the waves, they built themselves a simple tent of cloth and wooden poles and lounged naked in its shade.</p>
<p>“We’ll build a second level,” Joe was saying, gesturing toward the unseen house over the hill. “So there’s room for everyone, and Andromache will stop sleeping on the floor.”</p>
<p>“It’s a nice floor,” Andromache countered. “You made a house so extravagant, even the tiles are comfortable.”</p>
<p>Joe laughed. “I think we’ll take that as a compliment.”</p>
<p>She didn’t mean it as one, Nico knew. No matter what they did to make Andromache welcome, she never seemed to care for the house or to understand the appeal of owning such a place. The best she could do was to accept that it meant something to Joseph and Nico and to restrict her distaste to gentle teasing.</p>
<p>“It’s beautiful, really,” Sebastien said. “A little, uh, <em>Italian</em> for my taste, but...”</p>
<p>Nico tossed a handful of sand at him, smiling. “Be careful, Frenchman, or you will sleep on the beach.”</p>
<p>Sebastien laid back on the sand, arms behind his head, and gave a contented sigh. “Certainly not the worst place I’ve slept.”</p>
<p>“You know, my heart, I don’t believe these two appreciate our hospitality,” Joe said, leaning back against Nico’s chest.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe they do, beloved,” Nico agreed. </p>
<p>Joseph kissed his hand. “Perhaps we should lock the doors and let them brave the wilderness, tonight.”</p>
<p>Andromache laughed and spread her arms toward the empty beach and rolling hills. “Oh, yes. The vicious Sicilian wilderness. However will we survive.”</p>
<p>“Well, in that case, we’ll leave you to it,” Joseph announced, moving as if to rise from the sand.</p>
<p>Nico gripped his arm gently and pulled him back to his previous position, resting against Nico’s chest, and Nico pressed a kiss to the back of Joe’s neck. No words passed between them, but Joe would know that Nico wanted to lounge on the beach a little longer. Joseph’s answer was to turn and kiss the corner of Nico’s jaw, as clear a reply as if he had said the words, <em>anything you wish.</em></p>
<p>They stayed in that liminal space between the sand and the sea until the sky became the color of a bruise and stars began to appear on the horizon. The four of them retreated to the house for food, wine, and rest. </p>
<p>Despite insistence that there was room for everyone in the big bed, Sebastien and Andromache slept on couches in the main room of the house, and Nico would admit to both guilt and relief at this. He did not like the thought of sleeping in comfort while his family went without beds, but he could not regret any circumstance that gave him a safe and private night with his beloved. </p>
<p>He rose early the next morning, as was his habit, and was only a little surprised to find Andromache absent and Sebastien sitting at the dining table with a bottle of wine.</p>
<p>“<em>Buongiorno, fratellino. Dormito bene?</em>” </p>
<p>Sebastien startled, apparently deep in his thoughts. “<em>Bon matin, Nico. Oui, très bien.</em>”</p>
<p>“Andromache?”</p>
<p>“Up before I was. Probably off for a morning swim.” Sebastien drained his glass of wine but did not pour another. “Joe still sleeping?”</p>
<p>“Like a rock,” Nico confirmed. He unwrapped what remained of a loaf of bread from the day before and put it on a plate in front of Sebastien, along with a jar of honeyed apricots. Fondly, he added, “The entire house could crumble around us, and still my Yusuf would sleep.”</p>
<p>Sebastien gave a short laugh. “If only we could all sleep so soundly.”</p>
<p>He still dreamed of Quỳnh. It had been some years since he mentioned the dreams, but Nico could see it in the bruises under his eyes and the tight corners of his mouth, in the way he did not ask certain questions and sometimes avoided Andromache’s gaze. Nico would wager that Sebastien still dreamed of his wife and children, also, though he no longer spoke of them to anyone but Nico.</p>
<p>Once Nico had started the fire for cooking and made two cups of strong coffee, he sat at the table with Sebastien and began slicing pieces of fruit for his own breakfast. It would likely be another hour before Joe woke up and no telling when Andromache might return, so there was time before he needed to prepare a full meal.</p>
<p>After a moment of companionable silence, Sebastien spoke. “Nico, I...” He stopped, rubbing at his chin in thought, then tried again, “I have a favor to ask.”</p>
<p>“Anything,” Nico said immediately. </p>
<p>Sebastien chewed on his lip, looking at Nico’s face as if seeking the answer to a question. He must have found it, because he then rose from the table to retrieve his travelling bag from its place by the couch. Returning to the table, he pulled a leather case from inside the bag and set it in front of Nico.</p>
<p>“I have... This is some things. Keepsakes,” Sebastien explained. “From my family.”</p>
<p>He opened the case to reveal a collection of items as precious as they were fragile. Letters bundled together with twine, some photographs, a worn bible, a rosary with blue glass beads, small locks of hair bound with silk ribbons.</p>
<p>“I know what Andromache would say, if she knew I kept these things, but I couldn’t...” Sebastien broke off, shaking his head.</p>
<p>Nico’s chest ached. Sebastien held his grief so close to his heart, it seemed to be slowly suffocating him, and there was nothing for Nico to do but grasp his hand where it rested on the edge of the case and wait for Sebastien to go on.</p>
<p>“Can you keep them for me? Here?” he asked, finally. “I know the library is for you and Joe, b--”</p>
<p>“It’s for you, also, <em>fratellino</em>,” Nico told him. “This is your home, too.”</p>
<p>Sebastien sighed and set his other hand on top of Nico’s. “I... Thank you, <em>fratello</em>. I hope one day that’s true.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If he came to the door tomorrow, I would let him in.” Nicky glances sideways at Nile. “Don’t tell Joe I said that. He knows, but... Well. There’s a difference between knowing and being told.”</p>
<p>Nile nods. “Does Joe know about the stuff Booker asked you to keep for him?”</p>
<p>“No,” Nicky says. “It’s not a secret. He would not mind. I just... never said.”</p>
<p>In Nile’s mind, Joe and Nicky are a unit, syllables of a single word, and the rare disagreement is a hyphen dividing them between two lines. Disagreeing about something this significant is like a page break.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I can truly forgive Booker.” Nicky’s voice is somehow both quiet and hard. “But we cannot place all the blame on him. He was our brother, and we failed him.” In a softer voice, so soft Nile can hardly hear him above the waves, he adds, “I failed him.”</p>
<p>Nile can’t begin to guess at the self-recriminations that are running through Nicky’s mind, and it’s not her place to dispute them, even if she could. Instead, she wraps her arm around his shoulders, cool and damp with seawater, and squeezes. He kisses the top of her head, and she knows what he means is, <em>thank you.</em></p>
<p>They sit in silence for another minute, watching the dark sea. There are plenty of things Nile could say, most of them useless, and she eventually settles on saying something useless that she thinks will make Nicky happy.</p>
<p>“So... Can I paint my bedroom?”</p>
<p>Nicky snorts. “Of course, <em>sorellina</em>. It’s yours.”</p>
<p>“Cool. I might get some new stuff for the bed, too. Re-decorate a little.” She loves the whole house, but it would be nice to have a space that’s just hers.</p>
<p>“We can go shopping again, if you like,” Nicky offers. “Perhaps next week we could go to Roma for a few days. I think you would like it.”</p>
<p>“Seriously?”</p>
<p>“<em>Sì</em>.” He lifts his head and gives her a thin smile. “This life has its hardships, but it has good things, too.”</p>
<p>“Like no-limit shopping sprees in beautiful cosmopolitan cities?” Nile suggests.</p>
<p>“I think that’s a generous description of <em>Roma</em>,” he says coolly. “But yes. Among other things.”</p>
<p>Nile laughs and loops her arm through his, once again resting her head on his shoulder. With a sigh, she says, “Should we head back?”</p>
<p>Nicky heaves a sigh of his own. “I suppose so.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m hungry.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, me too.” It might be the marijuana or the night swimming or just her crazy immortal metabolism, but Nile is suddenly starving.</p>
<p>They climb to their feet, and Nile shakes the sand off of her robe the best she can. Arm in arm, they head back up the hill toward the house.</p>
<p>“Do you think they’re talking about us?” she asks lightly, and Nicky laughs.</p>
<p>“Probably.”</p>
<p>As the warm glow of the house comes into view against the night sky, Nile feels, for the first time in a long time, like she’s coming home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please appreciate <a href="https://rinledraws.tumblr.com/post/640813157119574016/did-you-buy-anything-useful-nicky-asks-of">this ADORABLE art</a> by rinledraws on Tumblr!</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://www.ugg.com/pride/pride-fluff-yeah-slide/1112686.html?dwvar_1112686_color=PRYW#start=2&amp;cgid=men-slippers">These are the slippers Joe gives Nicky.</a></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/1RbHefOC2iJCxaj9TpW91y4SmRZWHhY4iTA4u9A8VpWw/edit?usp=sharing">Here is the layout of the house.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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